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CfKEXRIGHT DEPOSm 



THE BIG DRUM 




A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS 




91. W. mntxo'6 Paps 



THE AHAZONS ^^'^c®^ Three Acts. Seven males, five females. 
Costumes, modern ; scenery, not difficult. Plays 
a full evening. 

THE CABINET MINISTER J^^--^^or^^^-^s. Ten males, nine 

females. Costumes, modern society ; 
scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

DANDY DICR ^^*^^ ^ Three Acts. Se"ven males, four females. 
Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays 
two hours and a half. 

THE 6AY LORD OUEX ^o^^edy in Four Acts. Four males, ten 
^ females. Costiunes, modern ; scenery, 

two interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening. 

HfS ROnSF IN ODDFR ^o^^^y^Fo^^-^^^^s* ^Ine males, four 

females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, 
three Interiors, Plays a full evening. 

THE HOBBY HORSE ^^^'^^^y ^ Three Acts. Ten males, five 
females. Costumes, modern; scenery easy. 
Plays two hours and a half. 

IRIS I^rama in Five Acts. Seven males, seven females. Costumes, 
modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening, 

LADY BOUNTIFUL ^^*^ ^ ^^^^ ■^^*^" -^^Sl^t males, seven fe- 
males. Costumes, modern ; scenery, four in- 
teriors, not easy. Plays a full evening. 

I FTTY I^rama in Four Acts and an Epilogue. Ten males, five f e- 
^ males. Costumes, modem ; scenery complicated. Plays a 

full evening. 



Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Waltn ^. QBafier & Company 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 



/f i 



THE BIG DRUM 



• • The desire of fame betrays an ambitious 
man into indecencies that lessen his 
reputation ; he is still afraid lest any of 
his actions should be thrown away in 
private. 

Addison, 



THE BIG DRUM 

A Comedy in Four Acts 



By 

ARTHUR PINERO 



K 



All rights reserved under the International Copy- 
right Act. Performance forbidden and right of repre- 
sentation reserved. Application for the right of per- 
forming this play must be made to the author in care 
of the publishers. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 

LONDON 
WILLIAM HEINEMANN 

MCMXV 



The Big Drum '^^^S> . 



THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY 



\'\ 



Philip Mackworth. 

Sir Randle Filson, Knt. 

Bertram Filson, his son. 

Sir Timothy Barradell, Bart. 

Robert Roope. 

COLLINGHAM GrEEN. 

Leonard Westrip, Sir Randle s secretary. 

Alfred Dunning, of Sillitoe and Dunning s Private 

Detective Agency. 
NoYES, Mr. Roope' s servant. 
Underwood, servant at Sir Randle s. 
John, Mr. MackwortK s servant. 
A Waiter. 

Ottoline de ChaumiS, Comtesse de CHAUMifi, nee 

Filson. 
Lady Filson. 

Hon. Mrs. Godfrey Anslow. 
Mrs. Walter Quebec. 
Miss Tracer, Lady Filson s secretary. 

Period. — 1913. 




Copyright, 191 5, by Arthur Wing Pinero 
As author and proprietor 



All rights reserved 




iJ)cin 4257:1 






ACT I 

Robert Roope's Flat in South Audley Street. 

June. 

ACT II 

Morning-room at Sir Randle Filson's, Ennismore 
Gardens. The next day. 

ACT III 
Mackworth's Chambers, Gray's Inn. November. 

ACT IV 
The same place. The following morning. 



The curtain falls for a i7iomeni in the course of the First 
and Third Acts. 



This play was produced in London^ at the 

St. 'James' s Theatre^ on Wednesday^ 

Septejnher /, /p/f 



PLEASE READ CAREFULLY 

The acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. 
Performance is strictly forbidden unless his express consent, or 
that of his agent, has first been obtained, and attention is called 
to the penalties provided by law for any infringements of his 
rights, as follows : 

"Sec. 4966; — Any person publicly performing or representing any 
dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, 
without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composi- 
tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such 
damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred 
dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as 
to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and rep- 
resentation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty 
of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be imprisoned for a period not 
exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes, Title bo. Chap. 3. 



PREFACE 

The Big Drum is published exactly as it was written, 
and as it was originally performed. At its first repre- 
sentation, however, the audience was reported to have 
been saddened by its " unhappy ending." Pressure was 
forthwith put upon me to reconcile Philip and Ottoline at 
the finish, and at the third performance of the play the 
curtain fell upon the picture, violently and crudely 
brought about, of Ottoline in Philip's arms. 

I made the alteration against my principles and against 
my conscience, and yet not altogether unwiUingly. For 
we live in depressing times ; and perhaps in such times it 
is the first duty of a writer for the stage to make con- 
cessions to his audiences and, above everything, to try to 
afford them a complete, if brief, distraction from the 
gloom which awaits them outside the theatre. 

My excuse for having at the start provided an " un- 
happy " ending is that I was bhnd enough not to regard 
the ultimate break between Phihp and Ottoline as really 
unhappy for either party. On the contrary, I looked 
upon the separation of these two people as a fortunate 
occurrence for both ; and I conceived it as a piece of 
ironic comedy which might not prove unentertaining that 
the falling away of Philip from his high resolves was 
checked by the woman he had once despised and who 
had at last grown to know and to despise herself, 

vii 



viii PREFACE 

But comedy of this order has a knack of cutting rather 
deeply, of ceasing, in some minds, to be comedy at all ; 
and it may be said that this is what has happened in the 
present instance. Luckily it is equally true that certain 
matters are less painful, because less actual, in print than 
upon the stage. The " wicked publisher," therefore, even 
when bombs are dropping round him, can afford to be 
more independent than the theatrical manager ; and for 
this reason I have not hesitated to ask my friend Mr. 
Heinemann to publish The Big Drum in its original form. 

Arthur Pinero. 
London, 

« September^ igiS- 



The Big Drum 



THE FIRST ACT 

The scene is a roomy elegantly decorated, in a fiat in South 
Audley Street. On the right , two windows give a view, 
through muslin curtains, of the opposite houses. In the 
wall facing the spectator are two doors, one on the right, 
the other on the left. The left-hand door opens into the 
room from a dimly-lighted corridor, the door on the right 
from the dining-room. Between the doors there is a 
handsome fireplace. No fire is burning and the grate 
is banked with fiowers. When the dining-room door is 
opened, a sideboard and a side-table are seen in the fur- 
ther room, upon which are dishes of fruit, an array of 
ice-plates and finger-bowls, liquors in decanters, glasses, 
silver, etc. 

The pictures, the ornaments upon the mantelpiece, and the 
articles of furniture are few but choice. A high-backed 
settee stands on the right of the fireplace ; near the settee 
is a fauteuil-stool ; facing the settee is a Charles II arm- 
chair. On the left of the room there is a small table 
with a chair beside it ; on the right, not far from the 
nearer window, are a writing-table and writing- chair. 
Pieces of bric-a-brac lie upon the tables, where there are 
also some graceful statuettes in ivory and bronze. Afi- 

1 



d THE BIO DRUM 

other high-backed settee Jills the space between the tviri' 
dozvs, and in each window there is an armchair of the 
same period as the one at the fireplace. 

The street is full of sunlight, 

\Note: Throughout^ " right " and ** left '* are the specta- 
tor's right and left, not the actor'' s.~\ 

[Robert Roope, seated at the writitig-table, is sealing a 
letter. No yes enters at the door on the left, followed 
by Philip Mackworth. 

NOYES. 

{Announcing Philip.] Mr. Mackworth. 

Roope. 

\_A simple-looking gentleman of fifty, scrupulously attired 
—jumping up and shaking hands warmly with Philip as 
the servant withdraws.'^ My dear Phil ! 

Philip. 

{A negligently — almost shabbily — dressed man in his 
late thirties, with a handsome but worn face.'] My dear 
Robbie ! 

Roope, 
A triumph, to have dragged you out ! \_Looking at his 
watch.] Luncheon isn't till a quarter-to-two. I asked 
you for half-past-one because I want to have a quiet 
little jaw with you beforehand. 

Philip. 
Delightful. 

Roope. 

Er — I'd better tell you at once, old chap, whom you'll 
meet here to-day. 



THE BIO DRUM $ 

Philip. 
Aha ! Your tone presages a most distinguished guest. 
[^Sealm£- himself in the chair by the small table J\ Is she a 
grande-duchesse, or is he a crowned head ? 

ROOPE. 

[Smiling rather uneasily.'] Wait. I work up to my 
great effect by degrees. We shall only be six. CoUing- 
ham Green 

Philip. 
[/« disgust.'] Oh, lord ! 

ROOPE. 

Now, Phil, don't be naughty. 

Philip. 
The fellow who does the Society gossip for the Planet ! 

RooPE. 
And does it remarkably neatly, in my opinion. 

Philip. 

Pouah ! [Leaning back in his chair, his legs outstretched, 
and spouting^ " Mrs. Trevelyan Potter, wearing a gown 
of yellow charmeuse exquisitely draped with chiffon, gave 
a dance for her niece Miss Hermione Stubbs at the Ritz 
Hotel last night." That sort o* stuff! 

RooPE. 
[Pained.] Somebody has to supply it. 

Philip. 

" Pretty Mrs. Claud Grymes came on from the opera 
in her pearls, and Lady Beakly looked younger than her 
daughter in blue." 



4 THE BIG DRUM 

ROOPE. 

\_Ruefully.'] You don't grow a bit more reasonable, 
Phil ; not a bit. 

Philip. 

I beg pardon. Go ahead. 

ROOPE. 

\Sitting on the fauteuil-stooL'\ Mrs. Godfrey Anslow 
and Mrs. Waily Quebec. Abuse theni. 

Philip. 

Bless their innocent hearts ! I'heyU be glad to meet 
Mr. Green. 

RoOPE. 

I trust so. 

Philip. 
\Scowling.^ A couple of pushing, advertising women. 

RoOPE. 

Really ! 

Philip. 

Ha, ha ! Sorry. That's five, with you and me. 

RooPE. 

That's five, as you justly observe. \Clearing his 
ihroatJ\ H'm! H'm! 

Philip. 
The sixth ? I prepare myself for your great effect. 

RooPE. 

\_With an effort.'] Er — Madame de Chaumid is in Lon- 
don, Phil. 



THE BIG DRUM 5 

Philip. 

[Sitting upright.'] Madame de Chaumie ! \_Disturbed.1 
Is she coming ? 

ROOPE. 

Y-y-yes. 

Philip. 
[Rising.'] Confound you, Robbie 

RooPE. 

[Hastily.] She has got rid of her house in Paris and 
rejoined her people. She's with them in Ennismore 
Gardens. 

Philip. 
Thank you, I'm aware of it. One reads of OttoHne's 
movements in every rag one picks up. [Walking over to 
the right.] She's the biggest chasseuse of the crowd. 

ROOPE. 

I assure you she appears very much altered. 

Philip. 
What, can the leopard change his spots ! 

ROOPE. 

Her family may still bang the big drum occasionally, 
and give it an extra whack on her account ; but Ottoline 
herself 

Philip. 

Faugh ! [Returning to Roope.] Why the devil have 
you done this ? 

Roope. 

[Feebly.] I confess, in the hope of bringing about a 
reconciliation. 



6 THE BIG DEUM 

Philip. 

You — you good-natured old meddler. \_Quickly.'] Does 
she expect to find me here ? 

ROOPE. 

No. 

Philip. 
[Making for the door on the leftj] I'll bolt, then. 

RooPE. 

\_Rising and seizing him.~\ You shall do nothing of the 
kmd. [Forcing him down upon the fauieuil-siooL'] You'll 
upset my luncheon-table ! [Tidying himself. ~\ You're 
most inconsiderate ; you are positively. And you've dis- 
arranged my necktie. 

Philip. 
[In a low voice.'\ How is she looking, Robbie ? 

RoOPE. 

Brilliant. [Putting his necktie in order ^ Is that straight ? 
BriUiant. 

Philip. 
[Gazing into space.\ Ten years ago, old man ! 

ROOPE. 

Quite. 

Philip. 

It was at her father and mother's, in Paris, that I 
made ^^«^ acquaintance. Recollect? 

ROOPE. 

Perfectly ; in the Avenue Montaigne. I had a flat in 
the Palais-Royal at the time. 



THE BIG DRUM 7 

Philip. 

IScorn/u/ly.'] You were one of the smart set. It was 
worth their while to get hold of you. 

ROOPE. 

My dear Phil, do be moderately fair. You weren't in 
the smart set. 

Philip. 

No ; I was trying my hand at journalism in those 
days. Dreadful trade ! I was Paris correspondent to the 
Whitehall Gazette. That's why / was favored. \Ab' 
ruptly.'] Robbie 

ROOPE. 

Hey? 

Philip. 

You'll scarcely credit it. One evening, while I was at 
work, Ottoline turned up with her maid at my lodgings 
in the Rue Soufflot, sent the maid out of the room, and 
proposed that I should "mention" her family in my 
letters to the Whitehall. 

ROOPE. 

Mention them ? 

Philip. 

Drag in allusions to 'em constantly — their entertain- 
ments and so forth ; boom them, in fact. 

RooPE. 
Was that the cause of the — the final ? 



Philip. 

[Nodding.'\ Yes. The following week her engagement 
to de Chaumie was announced. 



8 THE BIG DRmr 

ROOPE. 

{After a slight pause.'] Well, in spite of all this, I'm 
convinced she was genuinely attached to you, Phil — as 
fond of you as you were of her. 

Philip. 
{Resting his head on his hands.] Oh, shut up ! 

ROOPE. 

Anyhow, here's an opportunity of testing it, dear ex- 
cellent friend. She's been a widow twelve months ; you 
need have no delicacy on that score. 

Philip. 
{Looking up.] Why, do you suggest .'* 

RooPE. 

Certainly ; and without delay. I hear there's a shoal 
of men after her, including Tim Barradell. 

Philip. 
{With a grim smile 7] " Bacon " Barradell? 

ROOPE. 

{Assentingly J] They say Sir Timothy's in constant at- 
tendance. 

Philip. 

And what chance, do you imagine, would a poor liter- 
ary cove stand against a real live baronet — and the 
largest bacon-curer in Ireland ? 

ROOPE. 

{Rubbing his chin.] You never know. Women are 
romantic creatures. She might prefer the author of those 
absorbing works of fiction whose pages often wrap up 
Tim Barradell' s rashers. 



THE BIG DRUM 9 

Philip. 

\_Rising.'\ Ha, ha, ha ! \Giving himself a shake.'] 
Even so it can't be done, Robbie ; though I'm gratetul 
to you for your amiable Httle plot. \_lVa/kmg about.'] 
Heavens above, if Ottoline married me, she'd be puffing 
my wares on the sly before the honeymoon was half 
over! 

ROOPE. 

And a jolly good job too. [^Moving to the left, pee- 
vishly.] The truth is, my dear Phil, you're a crank — an 
absolute crank — on the subject of the — ah — the natural 
desire of some people to keep themselves in the public 
eye. Mercy on us, if it comes to that, rm an adver- 
tiser ! 

Philip. 
If it comes to that, you miserable old sinner, you are. 

RooPE. 

I admit it, frankly. I own it gratifies me exceedingly 
to see my httle dinner-parties and tea-parties, here or at 
my club, chronicled in the press. And it gratifies my 
friends also. Many of them wouldn't honor me at all 
if my list of guests wasn't in the fashionable intelligence 
next morning. 

Philip. 
Oh ! 

ROOPE. 

Yes, you may roar. I declare I shudder to think of 
the diff'erence it'ud make to me socially if I didn't ad- 
vertise. 

Philip. 
Robbie, I blush for you. 



10 THE BIG DRUM 

ROOPE. 

Tosh ! It's an advertising age. 

Philip. 
\Stalking to the fireplace. '\ It's a beastly vulgar age. 

ROOPE. 

It's the age I happen to live in, and I accommodate 
myself to it. \Pacing the room as he warms to his theme.'] 
And if it's necessary for a private individual such as my- 
self to advertise, as I maintain it is, how much more 
necessary is it for you to do so — a novelist, a poet, a 
would-be playwright, a man with something to sell ! Dash 
it, they've got to advertise soap, and soap's essential! 
Why not Hterature, which isnt? And yet you won't 
find the name of Mr. Phihp Mackworth in the papers 
from one year's end to another, except in a scrubby 
criticism now and again. 

Philip. 

\^Calmiy.'\ Excuse me, there are the publishers' an- 
nouncements. 

RooPE. 

Publishers' announcements ! I'm not speaking of the 
regular advertising columns. What I want to see are 
paragraphs concerning you mixed up with the news of 
the day, information about you and your habits, inter- 
views with you, letters from you on every conceivable 
topic 

Philip. 
^Grinning.'] Do you ! 

ROOPE. 

[yotning Philip.] Oh, my dear Phil, I entreat you, 
feed the papers ! It isn't as if you hadn't talent ; you 



THE BIO DRUM 11 

^ave. Advertising minus talent goes a long way ; ad- 
vertising phts talent is irresistible. Feed the papers. 
The more you do for them, the more they'll do for you. 
Quid pro quo. To the advertiser shall advertisement be 
given. Newspaper men are the nicest chaps in the 
world. Feed them gratis with bright and amusin' 
" copy," as you term it, and they'll love and protect 
you for ever. 

Philip. 

Not for ever, Robbie. Whom the press loves die 
young. 

ROOPE. 

It's fickle, you mean — some day it'll turn and rend 
you ? Perhaps. Still, if you make hay while the sun 
shines 

Philip. 

The sun ! You don't call that the sun ! [^Disdainfully,'] 
P'ssh ! 

ROOPE. 

[Leaving him.^ Oh, Fve no patience with you ! 
[Spluttering.'] Upon my word, your hatred of publicity 
is — is — is — is morbid. It's worse than morbid — it's Vic- 
torian. [Sitting in the chair by the small table.] There ! 
I can't say anything severer. 

Philip. 

[Advancing."] Yes, but wait a moment, Robbie. Who 
says I have a hatred of publicity? / haven't said any- 
thing so absurd. Don't I write for the public ? 

RooPE- 
Exactly 1 



12 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

[Standing near Roope.] I have no dislike for publicity 
— for fame. By George, sir, I covet it, if I can win it 
honestly and decently ! 

Roope. 
[Shrugging his shoulders.'] Ah ! 

Philip. 

And I humble myself before the men and women of 
my craft — and they are many — who succeed in winning 
it in that fashion, or who are content to remain obscure. 
But for the rest — the hustlers of the pen, the seekers after 
mere blatant applause, the pickers-up of cheap popu- 
larity — I've a profound contempt for them and their 
methods. 

Roope. 
You can't deny the ability of some of 'em. 

Philip. 

Deny it ! Of course I don't deny it. But no amount 
of abihty, of genius if you will, absolves the follower of 
any art from the obligation of conducting himself as a 
modest gentleman 

Roope. 

Ah, there's where you're so hopelessly Victorian and 
out o' date ! 

Philip. 

Well, that's my creed ; and, whether I've talent or not, 
I'd rather snuff out, when my time comes, neglected and 
a pauper than go back on it. [Walking away and pacing 
the roo7n.'] Oh, but I'm not discouraged, my dear Robbie 
— not a scrap! I'm not discouraged, though you do re- 
gard me as a dismal failure. 



THE BIG DRUM 13 

ROOPE. 

\Pej)recatingly.'\ No, no ! 

Philip. 

I shall collar the great public yet. You mark me, I 
shall collar 'em yet, and without stooping to the tricks 
and devices you advocate ! \_Returning to Roope.] 
Robbie 

Roope. 

\^Rising?^ Hey ? 

Philip, 

\Laying his hands on Roope's shoulders.'] If my next 
book — my autumn book — isn't a mighty go, I — I'll eat 
my hat. 

Roope. 

\Sadly.'] Dear excellent friend, perhaps you'll be 
obliged to, for nourishment. 

Philip. 

Ha, ha, ha ! \Taking R.OOVK s arm.'] Oddly enough — 
oddly enough, the story deals vi'ith the very subject we've 
been discussing. 

Roope. 
[ Without enthusiasm.] Indeed ? 

Philip. 
Yes. You hit on the title a few ramutes ago. 

Roope. 
Really ? 

Philip. 
When you were talking of Ottoline and her people. 
\Dropping his voice.] " The Big Drum." 



14 THE BIG DRUM 

ROOPE. 

[ Thoughtfully^ C-c-capital ! 

Philip. 
Titterton, my new publisher, is tremendously taken 
with the scheme of the thing — keen as mustard about it. 

ROOPE. 

Er — pardon me, Phil 

Philip. 
Eh? 

ROOPE. 

\Fingering the lapel of Philip's coat.'l I say, old man, 
you wouldn't be guilty of the deplorably bad taste of 
putting me into it, would you t 

PhiliPo 

{Slapping him on the back.'] Ha, ha ! My dear Rob- 
bie, half the polite world is in it. Don't tell me you wish 
to be left out in the cold ! 

ROOPE. 

[Thoroughly alarmed.] Dear excellent friend 



[NoYES enters again at the door on the left, pre- 
ceding COLLINGHAM GrEEN. 

NOYES. 

[Announcing Green, and then retiring.] Mr. CoUing- 
ham Green. 

Green. 

\A gaily-dressed, genial soul, with a flower in his 
buttonhole, a monocle, a waxed moustache, and a skilful 
arrangement of a sparse head of hair — shaking hands with 
RooPE.] How are you, my deah fellow ? 



THE BIO DRUM 16 

ROOPE. 

My dear Colly, delighted to see you. 

Green. 
An awful scramble to get heah. I was afraid I 
shouldn't be able to manage it. 

ROOPE. 

You'd have broken our hearts if you hadn't. You 
know Mackworth? 

Green. 
And his charming works. [Shaking hands with 
Philip.] Haven't met you for evah so long. 

Philip. 

I^ow d'ye do? 

Green. 

Ouf ! I must sit down. [^Sitting on the fauteuil-stool 
and taking off a pair of delicately tinted gloves^ The 
Season is killing me. I'm shaw I sha'n't last till Good- 
wood, Robbie. 

ROOPE. 

Yes, it's a shockin' rush, isn't it! 

Green. 
Haw! You ovAy fancy you're rushed. Your life is a 
rest-cure compared with mine. You've no conception, 
either of you, what my days are just now. 

Philip. 
[Finding himself addressed.'] Exhausting, no doubt. 

Green. 

Take to-day, for example. I was in my bath at half- 
past-seven 



16 THE BIG DRUM 

ROOPE. 

Half-past-seven ! 

Green. 
Though I wasn't in bed till two this morning. At eight 
I had a cup of coffee and a piece of dry toast, and 
skimmed the papers. From eight-thirty till ten I dictated 
a special article on our modern Enghsh hostesses — "The 
Hostesses of England : Is Hospitality Declining ? " a 
question I answer in the negative 

ROOPE. 

[/« a murmur. '\ Quite right. 

Green. 

At ten o'clock, a man from Clapp and Beazley's with 
some patterns of socks and underwear. Disposed of him, 
dressed, and by a quarter-to-eleven I was in the Park. 
Strolled up and down with Lady Ventnor and Sir Hill 
Birch and saw everybody there was to be seen. I nevah 
make a single note ; my memory's marvellous. Left the 
Park at twelve and took a taxi to inquire after Lord Har- 
rogate, Charlie Sievewright, and old Lady Dorcas Newn- 
ham. I'm not boring you ? 

ROOPE. 

Boring us ! 

Green. 
Lady Dorcas caught sight of me from her window and 
hailed me in. I sat with her for twenty minutes — 
"Greenie" she always calls me — [mimicking] "Now, 
Greenie, what's the noos ? " Haw, haw, haw ! I walked 
away from Lady Dorcas's, and was in upper Grosvenor 
Street punctually at one. [ 7o Roope.] There's been a 
meeting at the Baroness Van der Meer's to-day, you 
know, over this fete at the Albert Hall. 



THE BIO DRUM 17 

ROOPE. 

Ah, yes ; I'm to be in Lady Freddy Hoyle's Plantage- 
net group. I'm a knight in attendance on King John. 

Green. 

I had a short private chat with the Baroness, and fol- 
lowed her into the drawing-room. They were still at it 
when I sneaked out at a side door, and heah I am. 

RooPE. 
Extraordinary! Hey, Phil? 

Philip. 

\Leaning against the chair by the writing-table, dryly. ~\ 
Most interesting. 

Green. 
[ To Philip, rising.'] I lunch with Roope — [to Roope] 
you'll have to let me off at three, Robbie — and then my 
grind begins again. 

Roope. 
[Throwing up his hands in admiration^ Oh ! 

Green. 

Horse Show, two musical parties — Lady Godalming's 
and Mrs. Reggie Mosenstein's ; then home and more 
dictation to my secretary. Dine with Sir Patrick and 
Lady Logan at the Carlton, and then to the Opera with 
my spy-glass. From Covent Garden I dash down to 
Fleet Street, write my late stuff, and my day's done — 
unless I've strength left for Lady Ronaldshaw's dance 
and a crush at Mrs. Hume-Cutler's. 

Roope. 

[Repeating his former action^ Oh ! Oh ! 

[Noyes reappear^. 



18 THE BIG DRUM 

NOYES. 

Mrs. Walter Quebec. 

[Mrs. Walter Quebec enters and Noyes with- 
draws. 

ROOPE. 

[Taking Mrs. Quebec's hand."] My dear Mrs. Wally, 
how are you ? 

Mrs. Quebec. 

[A bright, energetic, fairly young /ady.'] How'r you, 
Robbie ? Walter is so grieved ; he's lunching at the 
Auto with Tony Baxter. He did try to wriggle out of 

it [Discovering Green and going to him with her 

hand extended?^ Oh, I am glad ! You're just the man 
I'm dying to see. 

Green. 
[Kissing her hand.'] Haw ! 

Mrs. Quebec. 
Lady Skewes and I are getting up a concert in aid of 
the poor sufferers from the earthquake in — what's the 
name of the place ? — I forget— Lady Skewes knows it— 
and we want you to say a lot about us in your darhng 
paper. Only distinguished amateurs ; that's where the 
novelty comes in. Lady Skewes is going to play the 
violin, if she can pull herself together— she hasn't played 
for centuries — [seeing Philip, advancing, and shaking 
hands with him'casnaUy'\ how d'ye do ? — [to Green] and 
I've promised to sing. 

Green. 
Splendid. 

RoOPE. 

But how captivating ! 



THE BIG DRUM 19 

Mrs. Quebec. 
[To Green.] I've sung so seldom since my marriage, 
and they've had such a difficulty to lure me out of my 
tiny wee shell. Would you mind dwelling on that a 
little? 

Green. 
Of course not ; anything I can do, deah lady 



Mrs. Quebec. 

That's too utterly sweet of you. You shall have full 
particulars to-morrow. I wouldn't bother you, but it's 
charity, isn't it? Oh, and there's something else I want 
you to be kind over ! [Noyes returns. 

Noyes. 
Mrs. Godfrey Anslow. 

\_7he Hon. Mrs. Godfrey Anslow enters and 
Noyes goes out again. 

Mrs. Anslow. 

\A tall, languishing woman with a toneless drawl — to 
RooPE.] Am I late ? 

Roope. 

[Pressing her hand.'\ Not a second, my very dear 
friend. 

Mrs. Anslow. 
Can't help it if I am. My car got smashed up last 
week in Roehampton Lane, and the motor people have 
lent me the original ark, on wheels. [Mrs. Quebec 
comes to her.'\ Hullo, Esme ! 

Mrs. Quebec. 
[Shaking hands.'] How'r you, Millicent? 



20 THE BIG DRUM 

Mrs. Anslovv. 

l^Going to Green and giving him her hand.'] Oh, and 
here's that horrid Mr. Green ! 

Green. 
My deah Mrs. Anslow ! 

Mrs, Quebec. 

Horrid ! What's he done ? [^Sitting in the chat?' by the 
small table.] I consider him a white-robed angel. 

Mrs. Anslow. 
I sent him a long account of my accident at Roehamp- 
ton and he hasn't condescended to take the slightest 
notice of it, 

Mrs. Quebec. 
Oh. Mr. Green ! 

Mrs. Anslow. 
\To Green.] It's cruel of you. 

Green. 

\^To Mrs. Anslow, twiddling his moustacheT] Alack 
and alas, deah lady, motor collisions are not quite in my 
line ! 

Mrs. Anslow. 

You might have passed it on to the accident man. 
Or you could have said that I'm to be seen riding in 
the Row evidently none the worse for my recent shock. 
Thaf s in your line. 

Green. 
Haw! I might have done that, certainly, \ Tapping 
his brow.] Fact is — height of the Season — perfectly dis- 
tracted 



THE BIG DRUM 21 

Mrs. Anslow. 

l^lViik the air of a martyr.'] It doesn't matter. I 
shan't trouble you again. I've never been a favorite of 
yours 

Green. 
{Appealingly.] Haw! Don't ! 



Mrs. Anslow. 

It's true. I was one of the few stall-holders at the 
Army and Navy Bazaar whose gowns you didn't de- 
scribe \Seeing Philip and nodding to him hazily.] 

How d'ye do? 

ROOPE. 

\_Prompting her.] Mr. Mackworth 



[Mrs. Anslow goes to Philip and proffers him a 
limp hand. Green retreats to the fireplace 
and Mrs. Quebec rises and pursues him. 

Mrs. Anslow. 

\To Philip.] I think we met once at my cousins', the 
Fairfields'. 

Philip. 
S^Bowing^ Yes. 

Mrs. Anslow. 
You write, don't you ? 

Philip. 
\_Evasively.] Oh ! 

Roope. 
\jfoining them.] My dear Mrs. Anslow, Mr. Mack- 
worth is one of the most gifted authors of the present 
day. 



S2 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 
[Giaring at Roope.] Tsssh ! 

ROOPE. 

[Tb Mrs. Anslow.] Get his books from your library 

instantly. I envy you the treat in store for you 

[NOYES again appears. 

NOYES. 

Madame de Chaumie. 

[Ottoline de CHAUMif enters — a beautiful, 
pale, elegant young 'W07nan of three-and-thirty, 
with a slightly foreign air and perfect refine- 
ment of manner. NoYES reti?'es. Everybody is 
manifestly pleased to see Ottoline, except 
Philip who picks up a little figure from the 
writing-table and examines it critically. 

Roope. 
\Hurrying to her and taking her hand.'] Ah ! 

Ottoline. 
Robbie dear! 

Mrs. Quebec. 
{Going to Ottoline.] Oh ! \They embrace.] This is 
lovely ! 

Ottoline. 

\To Mrs. Anslow, who comes to her.] Millicent ! 

\_To Green, who bustles forward and kisses her hand.] 
How do you do ? 

Mrs. Quebec. 

{To Ottoline.] You didn't stay long at the Railtons' 
last night, Ottoline. 



THE BIG DBmi 123 

Ottoline. 
I had a headache — mother was so vexed with me 

Mrs. Anslow. 
Headache or not, you looked divine. 

Mrs. Quebec. 
A vision ! 

Green. 

[7<? Ottoline.] Haw! I hope you saw the remarks 
about you in this morning's papah, deah lady. 

Ottoline. 

[77? Green.] For shame, Mr. Green ! Have you been 
flattering me again ? 

Green. 
Haw, haw, haw, haw ! 

ROOPE. 

[Standing near Philip.] Madame de Chaumie 

Ottoline, 

{Advancing ] Yes ? 

RooPE. 

Here's an old friend of ours whom you haven't met for 
years — Mackworth. 

[She starts and then waits, rooted, for Philip's 
approach. He replaces the figure carefully and 
comes to her, and their hands touch. RooPE 
leaves them and engages the others in conver' 
sation. 

Ottoline. 

\To Philip, in a low voice, her eyes sparkling."] I had 
no idea I was to have this pleasure. 



24 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

[^Gently, but without exceeding the bounds of mere cour- 
tesy.'] Robbie excels in surprises ; he has been ahnost 
equally reserved with me. Are you very well? 

Ottoline. 
Very. And you ? 

Philip. 
Very. And Sir Randle and Lady Filson? 

Ottoline. 

Quite well — and my brother Bertram. [^Chilled.'] Per- 
haps you've heard that I am making my home with them 
now in London, permanently — that I've left Paris? 

Philip. 

Robbie — and the newspapers — have told me. It's late 
in the day to do it — may I offer you my sympathy ? 

Ottoline. 

\_lVith a stately inclination of the headJ] Thank you. 
And I my congratulations on your success? 

Philip. 
[^Quietly-I Success. 

Ottoline. 

\Comprehe7iding.'\ Ah ? Le public est si bite. I've read 
every line you've written, I believe. \He bbws^ I — I 
have felt proud to think that we were once — that we were 
once — not des incofinus. 

\_He bows again, and there is silence between them. 
The dining-room door opens and No yes pre- 
sents himself. A waiter is seen in the dining- 
room, standing at the side table. 



f£[E BIG DRUM ^ 

NOYES. 

I] 72? RooPE.] Lunch is served, sir. 

ROOPE. 

[ 7o everybody^ Come along ! Come along, dear ex- 
cellent friends ! [Ottoline smiles graciously at Philip 
and turns fro?n him.] Lead the way, dear Mrs. Anslow. 
Madame de Chaumie ! [Mrs. Anslow slips her arm 
through Ottoline' S.J You both sit opposite the fire- 
place. Dear Mrs. Wally ! Come along, my dear Phil ! 

\_Putting an ar7n round Green's shoulder.] Colly ! 

\lhey all move into the dining-room,, and the cur' 
tain falls. It rises again abnost immediately. 
A chair, withdrawn from the further window, 
is now beside the fauteuil- stool, on its right; 
and the chair which was close to the small table 
has been pulled out into the room, and faces the 
fauteuil- stool at some little distance from it. 
The doors are closed. Mrs. Anslow and Mrs. 
Quebec are taking their departure. The 
form,er is saying good-bye to Ottoline, who 
is standing before the fireplace ; the latter is 
talking to RooPE near the door on the left. 
On the right is Philip, ready to receive his 
share of the adieux. 

Mrs. Anslow. 

{^Shaking hands with Ottoline.] Good-bye. You 
might come on to Olympia; my sister-in-law's box holds 

six. 

Ottoline. 

Sorry. I really am full up this afternoon. [Mrs. 
Quebec comes to Ottoline as Mrs. Anslow goes to 
Philip. Roope opens the door on the left and remains 
there, waiting to escort the ladies to the outer door.] Can 
I give you a lift anywhere, Esm^ ? 



ge TEE BIG DRUM 

Mrs. Quebec. 

Thanks; Millicent's taking me along with her to the 
Horse Show. 

Mrs. Anslow. 

\Shaki7ig hands with Philip.] Very pleased to meet 
you again. Ever see anything now of the Fairfields? 

Philip. 
Never. 

Mrs. Anslow. 
No loss. I believe dear old Eustace is off his head. 

Philip. 

Possibly. 

Mrs. Anslow. 

\Tolerantly7\ But then, so many people are off their 
heads, aren't they ? 

Philip. 

A great many. 

Mrs. Anslow. 

\_Bestowing a parting nod upon Philip and crossing 
to the open door.'\ Sha'n't wait, Esme. It's a month s 
journey to Hammersmith in the ark. 

Mrs. Quebec. 
\Ktssing Ottoline.] Good-bye. 

Mrs. Anslow. 

[7b ROOPE.] Charming lunch. Enjoyed myself enor- 
mously. 

Mrs. Quebec. 

{Shaking hands with Philip hastily.'] Good-bye, Mr. 
Mack worth. 



THE BIG DBVM S7 

Philip. 

Good-bye. 

[RooPE and Mrs. Anslow have disappeared : 
Mrs. Quebec follows them. Ottoline ap- 
proaches Philip slowly, 

Ottoline. 

\Giving hiin her hand."] Good-bye. 

Philip. 
\_Bending over it formally^ Good-bye. 

Ottoline. 

We — we're in Ennismore Gardens, you know. \He 
acknowledges the information by a stiff bow. She interests 
herself in her glove-buttons. "^ You — you've chosen to 
drop out of my — out of our lives so completely that I 
hardly like to ask you to come and see us. 

Philip. 

\Constrainedly.'\ You are very good ; but I — I don't 
go about much in these days, and I'm afraid- — 

Ottoline. 

\^uickly.'\ Oh, I'm sure you're wise. \_Drawing her- 
self erect."] A writer shouldn't give up to society what is 
meant for mankind, should he ? 

[She passes him distantly, to leave the room, and 
he suddenly grips her shoulder. 

Philip. 

Ottoline ! 

\_By a mutual impulse ^ they glance swiftly at the 
open door, and then she throws herself into his 
arms. 



28 THE BIO DRUM 

Ottoline. 
Philip 



[ '^st as swiftly, they separate ; and a moment 
afterwards Roope returns^ rubbing his hands 
cheerily. 

ROOPE. 

[Advancing, but not shutting the door.'\ There ! Now 
we're by ourselves ! [7i? Ottoline.] You're not running 
away? 

Ottoline. 

[Confused.'] Oh, I — I 

Roope. 

It's only half-past-three. Why don't you and Mack- 
worth sit down and have a little talk together? [To 
Philip, who has strolled to the further window and is look- 
ing into the street.'] You're in no hurry, Phil ? 

Philip. 
Not in the least. 

Roope. 

[Crossifig to the writing-table.] I'll finish answering 
my letters ; I sha'n't have a moment later on. [Gather- 
ing up his correspondence.] You won't disturb me ; I'll 
poHsh 'em off in another room. [To Ottoline.] Are 
you goin' to Lady Paulton's by-and-by, by any chance? 

Ottoline. 
[Again at the fireplace, her back to Roope and Philip.] 
And Mrs. Jack Cathcart's — and Mrs. Le Roy's 

Roope. 

You shall take me to Lowndes Square, if you will. 
[Recrossing.] Sha'n't be more than ten minutes. [At the 
door.] Ten minutes, dear excellent friends. A quarter- 
of-an-hour at the outside. 



THE BIG DRUM 29 

\_He vanishes, closing the door. There is a pause^ 
and then Philip and Ottoline turn to one 
another and he goes to her. 

Ottoline. 

\^Her hands in his, breathlessly. 1 You are glad to see 
me, then ! {Laughing shyly.'] Ha, ha ! You are glad ! 

Philip. 

[^Tettderly.'] Yes. 

Ottoline. 
You brute, Phil, to make me behave in such an un- 
dignified way ! 

Philip. 
If there's any question of dignity, what on earth has 
become of mine ? I was the first to break down. 

Ottoline. 

To break down ! Why should you try to treat me so 
freezingly ? You can't be angry with me still, after all 
these years ! C est pas possible f 

Philip. 

It was stupid of me to attempt to hide my feelings. 
\_Pressing her hand to his lips.'] But, my dear Otto — my 
dear girl — where's the use of our coming into each other's 
lives again.? 

Ottoline. 

The use ? Why shouldn't we be again as we were 

in the old Paris days — [embarrassed] well, not quite, per- 
haps ? 

Philip. 

[Smiling.] Oh, of course, if you command it, I am 
ready to buy some smart clothes, and fish for oppor- 



30 THE BIG DRUM 

tunities of meeting you occasionally on a crowded stair- 
case or in a hot supper-room. But — as for anything 
else 

Ottoline. 

[Siowiy withdrawing her hands and putting them behind 
her.'] As for — anything else ? 

Philip. 

I repeat — cui bono f {^Regarding her kindly but pene- 
tratingly^ What would be the result of your reviving a 
friendship with an ill-tempered, intolerant person who 
would be just as capable to-morrow of turning upon you 
like a savage ? 

Ottoline. 

Ah, you are still angry with me! \_With a change of 
tone.] As you did that evening, for instance, when I 
came with Nannette to your shabby little den in the Rue 
Soufflot 

Philip. 

Precisely. 

Ottoline. 

[ Walking away to the front of the fauteuil- stool.] To 
beg you \.o prdner my father and mother in the journal you 
were writing for — what was the name of it? 

Philip. 
{^Following her.] The Whitehall Gazette. 

Ottoline. 
And you were polite enough to tell me that my cravings 
and ideals were low, pitiful, ignoble ! 

Philip. 
[Regretfully.] You remember? 



THE BIG DRUM 31 

Ottoline. 

[^Facing him,'] As clearly as you do, my friend. {Lay- 
ing her ha fid upon his arm, melting^ Besides, they were 
true — those words — hideously true — as were many other 
sharp ones you shot at me in Paris. \Turning from himJ] 
Low— pitiful — ignoble 1 

Philip. 

Otto ! 

\_She seats herself in the chair by the fauteuil-stool 
and motions him to sit by her. He does so. 

Ottoline. 

Yes, they were true ; but they are true of me no longer. 
I am greatly changed, Philip. 

Philip. 
{^Eyeing her.] You are more beautiful that ever. 

Ottoline. 
H*sh ! — changed in my character, disposition, view of 
things. Life lias gone sadly with me since we parted. 

Philip. 
Indeed ? I — I'm grieved. 

Ottoline. 
My marriage was an utter failure. You heard ? 

Philip. 

[Shaking his head.] No. 

Ottoline. 

No ? [Smiling faintly.] I thought everybody hears 
when a marriage is a failure. [Mournfully.] The fact 
remains ; it was a terrible mistake. Poor Lucien ! I 
don't blame him for my nine years of unhappiness. I en- 
gaged myself to bim in a hurry— out of pique 



32 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 
Pique ? 

Ottoline. 
Within a few hours of that fatal visit of mine to your 
lodgings. \_Looking at him significantly. '[ It was that that 
drove me to it. 

Philip. 

[Staring at her."] That f 

Ottoline. 
[Simply.'] Yes, Phil. 

Philip. 
Otto! 

Ottoline. 

[Plucking at the arm of her chair ^ You see — you see, 
notwithstanding the vulgarity of my mind, I had a deep 
respect for you. Even then there were wholesome signs 
in me ! [Shrugging her shoulders plaintively.] Whether I 
should have ended by obeying my better instincts, and 
acceptmg you, I can't say. I believe I should. I — I be- 
lieve I should. At any rate, I had already begun to 
chafe under the consciousness that, while you loved me, 
you had no esteem for me. 

Philip. 
[Remorsefully^ My dear ! 

Ottoline. 
[Raising her head.] That scene between us in the 
Rue Soufflot set my blood on fire. To have a request 
refused me was sufficiently mortifying ; but to be 

whipped, scourged, scarified, into the bargain ! I 

fl^w down your stairs after I left you, and droye home, 



THE BIO DRUM 33 

scorching with indignation ; and next morning I sent for 
Lucien — a blind adorer ! — and promised to be his wife. 
[Leaning back.'\ Comprenes-vous, maintenant? Solely 
to \i\xx\. you ; to hurt you, the one man among my ac- 
quaintances whom I — admired ! 

\_She searches for her handkerchief. He rises and 
goes to the mantelpiece and stares at the flowers 
in the grate. 

Philip. 
[Almost inaudibly.'] Oh, Otto! 

Ottoline. 

[Wiping a tear from her cheek."] Heigh, dear me! 
Whenever I go over the past, and that's not seldom, 
I can't help thinking you might have been a little 
gentler with me — a girl of three-and-twenty — and have 
made allowances. [Blowing her nose.'\ What was Dad 
before he went out to Buenos Aires with his wife and 
children ; only a junior partner in a small concern in 
the City ! Wasn't it natural that, when he came back 
to Europe, prosperous but a nobody, he should be eager 
to elbow himself into a respectable social position, and 
that his belongings should have caught the fever } 

Philip. 
[ Wretchedly.] Yes — yes 

Ottoline. 

[Rising and wandering to the writing-table.] First we 
descended upon Paris — you know ; but Paris didn't re- 
spond very satisfactorily. Plenty of smart men flocked 
round us — la belle Mademoiselle Filson drew them to the 
Avenue Montaigne ! 

Philip. 
[Under his breathy turning.] T'scht I 



134 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline. 

But the women were either hopelessly bourgeoises or 
slightly die lassie. \Inspecti7ig some of the pieces of bric-a- 
brac upon the table!\ Which decided us to attack London 
—.and induced me to pay my call on you in the Rue 
Soufiiot , ^ 

.v. '.V. 'V^'^,-^, 

Philip. 
1 understand. 

.'A'V'.V.vx'.v'*. \?'>*':',XX'' 

Ottoline. 

To coax you to herald us in your weekly causeries. 
\Wincing.'\ Horrible of me, //?«/ was; horrible, hor- 
rible, horrible ! [^Replacing an object upon the table and: 
moving to the other side of the roomP^ However, L wasn't 
destined to share the earliest of the London triumphs. 
\Bitterly^ Mine awaited me in Paris, and at Vaude- 
mont-Baudricourt, as the Comtesse- de Chaumie ! \_Shiv- 

ering.'] Ugh-h-h-h ! 

[^She is about to sit in th^ chair on the left when he 
comes to heritnpulsiv^Iy andrTrestrMnSrher. ■' <.- 



My poor girl 



'"-" "Philip^ 



' ,'>'\'\^\^^ ^ 



Ottoline. 
[ With abandon. ] Ah 1 V--C 

JrHILIP» _r»\; f.fy r'OC^'j ^'*:3'^'^r'?'^'> 

My poor dear girl ! > /. r .^ v"?v J>Tor" 

Ottoline. ofi^irv^ao'/ ''-'". 

It's a relief to me to open my heart to you, Philip. 
[//e leads her to the Jauteuil'Stool.'\ Robbie won't inter- 
rupt us yet awhile, will he ? •?;""■ '^^ .wX'n'''. \ ^. a -v^ .'\o 



THE BIO DRUM 36 

Philip. 
We'll kick him out if he does. \_7^he)f sit, dose together, 
upon the fauteuii-stool.'] Oh, but he won't ! This is a deep- 
laid plot of the old chap's 

Ottoline. 
Plot? 

Philip. 
To invite us here to-day, you and me, to — to 



Ottoline. 
Amener un rapprochement f 

Philip. 
Exactly. 

Ottoline. 

[Softly. 1^ Ha, ha ! Dear old Robbie ! [He laughs with 
her.'] Dear, dear old Robbie ! [Her laughter dies out, 
leaving her with a serious, appealing face. ~\ Phil 

Philip. 
Eh? 

Ottoline. 
Your sneer — your sneer about me and the papers 



Philip. 
Sneer ? 

Ottoline. 

I detected it. Almost the first thing you said to me 
when I arrived was that you'd been gathering news of 
me lately from the papers ! 



36 THE BIO DRUM 

Philip. 
[Gen//y.^ Forgive me. 

Ottoline. 

It's been none of my doing ; I've finished with /e snob- 
bisme entirely. \Pleadingly.'\ You don't doubt me .'' 

Philip. 
\^Patthig her hand.'\ No — no. 

Ottoline. 
Nowadays I detest coming across my name in print. 
But my people — [^with a little moue] they will persist 
in ! 

Philip. 
Beating the big drum? 

Ottoline. 

Ha! \_B rushing her hair fro7ii her brow fretfully. '\ Oh! 
Oh, Phil, it was bUndness on my part to return to them — 
sheer blindness ! 

Philip. 

Blindness ? 

Ottoline. 

They've been urging me to do it ever since my hus- 
band's death ; so I had ample time to consider the step. 
But I didn't reahze, till I'd settled down in Ennismore 
Gardens, how thoroughly I 

Philip. 
[Finding she doesn't co7itinue.'\ How thoroughly ? 

Ottoline. 
How thoroughly I've grown away from them — ceased 
to be one of them. [Stamping herfoot,^ Oh, I know I'm 



THE BIG DRUM 37 

ungrateful ; and that they're proud of me, and pet and 
spoil me ; [contracting her shoulder-blades] but they make 
my flesh feel quite raw — mother. Dad, and my brother 
Bertram ! Their intense satisfaction with themselves, and 
everything appertaining to them, irritates me to such a 
pitch that I'm often obliged to rush out of the room to stop 
myself from being rude. \Impetuously7] And then to 
have to watch Dad and mother still pushing, scheming, 
intriguing ; always with the affectation of despising 
reclame, yet doing nothing — not the most simple act — 
without a careful eye to it ! Years ago, as I've said, there 
was an intelligible motive for our paltry ambitions ; but 
now, when they hsive force les pories and can afford to be 
sincere and independent——! \_Checking herself.] But 
I oughtn't to speak of my folks like this, ought I, even to 
you whom I can trust ! [Penitently.] It's awfully wrong 
of me. I — I beg your pardon. 

Philip. 

[After a short silence.] What do you intend to do, then, 
Otto, ultimately — reestabhsh yourself in Paris ? 

Ottoline. 

[Drearily.] Paris ! Is Paris so full of cheerful mem- 
ories for me, do you suppose, that I should cling to it ! 

Philip. 
[Soothingly.] Oh, come ! 

Ottoline. 

I travelled about for some months after I became a 

widow, and when I saw Paris again ! [Starting up 

as if to rid herself of disagreeable sensations.] No, my one 
great desire is to escape from it all, Phil — \jnoving to the 
chair on the left] to escape ! 

Philip. 
\_Rising.] Escape ? 



38 TEE BIO DRUM 

Ottoline. 

To alter the whole current of my life, if it's possible, 
[sinking into the chair] and to breathe some fresh air ! 
\_Fanning herself with her hand.] Phew-w-w-w ! 

Philip. 

H'm ! [Approaching her and looking down upon her.] 
According to report, Ottoline, you'd have very little diffi- 
culty in — escaping. 

Ottoline. 
[Glancing up at him.] Report ? 

Philip. 

Rumor has it that there are at least a dozen ardent 
admirers at your feet, each with a wedding-ring in his 
waistcoat-pocket. 

Ottoline. 

[Reproachfully , her eyes meeting his.] Why, have you 
been listening to tittle-tattle as well as studying newspaper 
paragraphs ! [He bows, good-humoredly .] My dear Philip, 
allowing for exaggeration, granting that my soufiirants 
number half a dozen, which of them would enable me to 
fill my lungs with fresh air ? Who are they, these enter- 
prising men ? 

Philip. 

[Leaving her abruptly and going to the mantelpiece.] 
Oh, pray don't ask me I I don't know who the fellows 
are — except — they say — Sir Timothy Barradell 

Ottoline. 

[Lightly but softly.] Sir Timothy ! Sir Timothy has 
only just succeeded in fighting his way into the world 
I'm sick and tired of ! [Shaking her head.] Poor Sir Tim ! 
[Pityingly.] Ha, ha, ha, ha! 



THE BIG DRUM 39 

Philip. 
\^His back towards her.'] Otto — - 

OttolinE. 
Yes ? 

Philip. 

What sort of world would you be willing to exchange 
for your present one, my dear ? 

Ottoline. 
What sort ? 

Philip. 
What sort — spiritual and material ? 

Ottoline. 

[^Resiing her elbow upon the arm of her chair and her 
chin upon her hand, musingiy.] Oh, I believe any world 
would content me that's totally different from the world 
I've lived in so long ; any world that isn't flat and stale 
and stifling ; that isn't made up of shams, and petty aims 
and appetites ; any world that — well, such a world as you 
used to picture, Phil, when you preached your gospel to 
a selfish, common girl under the chestnuts in the Allee 
de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysees ! [Half laugh- 
ing, half sighing.] Ha, la, la, la ! 

\Again Ihere is a pause, and then he walks to the 

further window and gazes into the street once 

more. 

Philip. 
\In a low voice.] Ten years ago. Otto ! 

Ottoline, 
Ten years ago ! 



40 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

\_Partly in jest, partly seriously-l Do the buds still 
sprout on those trees in the Allee de Longchamp and 
the Champs-Elysees, can you tell me? 

Ottoline. 

[^Falling in with his humor.'] Ha, ha ! Every spring, 
cher ami, regularly. 

Philip. 

And the milk at the Cafe d'Armenonville and the 
Pre-Catelan — is it still rich and delectable? 

Ottoline 

To the young, I assume ; scarcely to the aged 
widow ! 

Philip. 
Or the grey-haired scribbler ! Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Ottoline. 

Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

[^He turns and advances to her slowly, looking at 
her fixedly and earnestly. 

Philip. 
Ottoline — I wonder whether you'd care to walk under 
those trees with me again, for sentiment's sake, some fine 
day in the future ! 

Ottoline. 
\Staring at him.'] C-care — — ? 

Philip. 

And if you would, whether I ought to tempt you to 
risk it ! 



THE BIG DRUM 41 

Ottoline. 

[^Rising, smiling but discom,posedJ\ To — to risk finding 
that le lait rC est pas cremeux, do you mean ? 

Philip. 

\Tenderly.'\ To risk even that. [^Drawing nearer to 
her.\ Otto ! 

Ottoline. 
I — I should be delighted — if— if ever 



Philip. 

No, no ; not as friends. Otto — save in the best 
sense 

Ottoline. 
{Faintly :\ I— I don't 

Philip. 

As husband and wife. \_She stands quite still.'] Hus- 
band and wife ! Some day when I've achieved a solid 
success ; when I've captured the great public, and can 
come to you, not as a poor, struggling writer, but hold- 
ing my prizes in both hands ! 

Ottoline. 

{Putting her hand to her forehead.'] It — it's not too 
late, is it ? 

Philip. 
{Recoiling.'] Too late — for me — to be successful ? 

Ottoline. 

{Passionately.] Oh, my God, don't say that to me — 
{going to him, and clinging to him] too late for me to 
recover a little of what I've lost ! 



^ TMABIO^DEUM 

Philip. 
[^Pressmg her to him.'\ Ah ! Too l^te for neither of us. 
It's'a bargain ?..._.,. ]_ \. ;^ .cu^\^...'j^, .:..,. 

Ottoline. 
Yes — yes; but— — - ^ ^ 

Philip. . — ~ l,..0 ^a.a 

But ? ^, ^ 



l^Her head drooping.'] Must it be — some day? [/V/- 
eouslyJ] Some da.y \ 

Philip. 



There are signs in the sky ; the day isn't far distant ! 

OxTOLi^fE. -w. - — - .^..K. ; .^ 
I — I've money, Philip 

Philip. 
H' sssh \ ■ {.J^rawm'fig.] OttohueJr/ioS: . 

ju JUG - ... Ottoline. .. ..iov c; ^jinozi 

Ah, je vois qns voire orgueiies^ plus fort-que voire 
amour ! 

^^ — Philip. 

Ha, ha! Peut-Hre ; je ne m'en defends pas... You 
consent? 

^^ _^^-^ ^^ ^^ Ottoline.^ ^ ^j ; w. ..;.;;/ 

{Pouting.] I may let my people know of the arrange- 
ment, may I not? You'll see them? 

Philip. 
My dear, what wauld be gained by that ngwf \\ttijyJi 



THE BIG DRUM 43 

Ottoline. 

It would enable you to come often to Ennismore 
Gardens, and have cozy teas with me in my room. 
We couldn't be — what we are — on the sly indefinitely ; 
it's impracticable. There'll be a storm at first, but it 
will soon blow over. \Making a wry face. '\ Still, if you'd 
rather 

Philip. 

No, no ; I'll see them, if you wish me to. \Nodding^ 
We'll be open and aboveboard from the start. 

Ottoline. 
Ha, ha ! \Sighing happily. '\ Ah-h-h-h ! 

Philip. 

\^His tone changing to one of misgiving. '\ Ah, Otto, I 
begin to be afraid that I oughtn't — that I oughtn't to 
have spoken to you 

Ottoline. 
Why? 

Philip. 

\Gravely^ You will never be patient — you'll never be 
content to wait, if need be ! 

Ottoline. 

Content, no. But patient ! [In a whisper.'] Shall I 
tell you a secret ? 

Philip. 
Well? 

Ottoline. 

I've been waiting — waiting for you— in my dreams— 
for ten years ! 



44 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 
[Ardently.'] Otto ! 

Ottoline. 
Isn't Mfl/ patience ? 

\_Their lips meet in a lingering kiss. The handle 
of the door on the left is heard to rattle. Look- 
ing at the door, they draw back from one an- 
other. The handle rattles again, 

Philip. 
It's that idiot Robbie. 

Ottoline. 

Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

\The door opens, and Roope appears, with an air 
of unconcern. 

Roope. 

[Humming.] Tra, lal, lal, la ! That' s done, dear 

excellent friends ! [Closing the door, and coming forward.] 
Upon my word, letters are the curse of one's exist- 
ence ! 

Ottoline. 
Ha, ha ! [Seizing him.] Robbie ! 



Roope. 



[Startled.] Hey 



Ottoline. 

I can't take you to Lady Paulton's — or anywhere else. 
Philip and I are going to spend the rest of the afternoon 
here, if you'll let us — and talk — and talk ! [Sud- 
denly embracing him, and kissing him upon the c/ieek.] 
Ah! Que vous Ues gentill Merci — merci — merci f 



THE BIG DRUM 46 

[Sitiing in the chair on the left and unpinning her hat. '\ 
Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

ROOPE. 

{Turning to Philip, his eyes bolting?^ Phil ! 

Philip. 

\_Nodding.'\ Yes. {Wringing Roope's hand.'\ Much 
obliged, Robbie. 



END OF THE FIRST ACT 



THE SECOND ACT 

The scene is a morning-roomy richly furnished and deco- 
rated f in a house in Ennismore Gardens. The walls 
are of panelled wood for two-thirds of their height, the 
rest being covered with silk. In the wall at the back, 
between the centre and the left-hand corner , there is a 
handsome double-door opening upon another door, covered 
in thick cloth, which is supposed to give admittance to the 
■ library. On the right, in a piece of wall running ob- 
liquely towards the spectator from the back wall to the 
right-hand wall, is a companion double- door to that on 
the lefty with the difference that the panels of the upper 
part of this door are glazed. A silk curtain obscures 
the glazed panels to the height of about seven feet from 
the floor, and above the curtain there is a view of a 
spacious hall. When the glazed door is opened, it is 
seen that the hall is appropriately furnished. J win- 
dow is at the further end of it, letting in light from the 
street, and on the right of the window there is a lofty 
screen arranged in such a manner as to suggest that it 
conceals the front door of the house. 

The fireplace, where a bank of fiowers hides the grate ^ is 
in the left-hand wall of the room. On the further side 
of the fireplace there is an armchair, and before the fire- 
place a settee. Behind the settee, also facing the fire- 
place, are a writing-table and chair ; close to the fur- 
ther side of the writing-table is a smaller chair ; and at 
the nearer end of the settee, but at some distance from 

46 



IpMje'bio'deum ^it 

7/, Stands a low-backed armchair which is turned in the 
direction of the door on the right, ' ^,.'---,-,-\ 

On the other side of the roomy facing the spectator and fol- 
lowing the line of the oblique wall, is a second settee. 

- • On the left of this settee is. an armchair ^ on the right a 

'- ^ - raund table ' and another chair. Books and periodicals 
are strewn upon the table. Against the wall at the 
backy between the door s^ are -an- oblong table and a chair ; 
a^d. other., articles of furniture And embellisJimmt—^cabi' 

,.. nets of various kinds, jar dinieresy mirror Sy lamps y etc., 
etc.— occupy spaces not provided for in this denript ion. ' 

Among other objects upon the oblong table are some framed 
photographs y conspicuously displayed y of members of the 
'Royal . Family, and a book-rack containing books of ref- 
erence. ."- ■ 

// is daylight. 

£Mrss Tracer, a fed-hair edy sprightly young lady. If seated 
upon the settee oft the right y turning the leaves of a pic- 
ture-paper. A note-book y with a pencil stud in //, lies 
by her side. There is a knock at the door on the left. 

._^., .,,^ _ v.- Miss Tracer. 

{Calling out. ^^ Eh? 

\The door qpens^nd Leonard Westrip appears. 
He carries a pile ofpress-jcuttings.. ^ ~ - - - 

Westrip.. ^ 
\A fresh-colored, boyish young m.an.\ I beg your 
pardon— "[5^i?m^^ that Mjss TRACER is a/c?/?^] oh, "good- 
morning. 

Miss Tracer. 
Good-morning. :^ y^to? v.'Iv v/'^ "^ 



48 !rHE BIO DitUM 

Westrip. 

[^Entering and closing the door7\ Lady Filson isn't 
down yet? 

Miss Tracer. 

No. \Tossing the picture-paper on to the round table i\ 
She didn't get to bed till pretty late last night, I suspect. 

Westrip. 
\AdvancingJ\ I thought she'd like to look through 
these. \Showingyi.\?>'S>T'^KQ.^^ the press-cuttings?!^ From 
the press-cutting agency. 

Miss Tracer. 

\Picking up her note-book and rising^ You bet she 
would ! 

Westrip. 

[Handing her the press-cuttings.'] Let me have them 
back again, please. Sir Randle hardly had time to glance 
at them before he went out. 

Miss Tracer. 

[Inquisitively, elevating her eyebrows J] He's out very 
early ? 

Westrip. 
Yes ; he's gone to a memorial service. 

Miss Tracer. 

Another! [With a twinkle.] That's the third this 
month. 

Westrip. 
So it is. I'm awfully sorry for him. 



THE BIG DRUM 49 

Miss Tracer. 
[Laughing slyly.'] He, he, he ! Ho, ho ! 

Westrip. 
[Surprised.'] What is there to laugh at. Miss Tracer ? 

Miss Tracer. 

You don't believe he has ever really known half the 
people he mourns, do you ? 

Westrip. 
Not known them ! 

Miss Tracer. 

[| Crossing to the writing-table and laying the press-cut- 
titigs upon it.] Guileless youth ! Wait till you've 
breathed the air of this establishment a little longer. 

Westrip. 
[Puzzled.^ But if he hasn't known them, why should 
he ? 

Miss Tracer. 
For the sake of figuring among a lot of prominent per- 
sonages, of course. 

Westrip. 
[Incredulously.] Oh, Miss Tracer ! 

Miss Tracer. 

Gospel. [ Taking up the press-cuttings and looking 
through them.] Many are the sympathetic souls who are 
grief-stricken in these days for the same reason. Here 
we are ! [Reading from a cutting.] Late Viscount Peters- 
field . . . memorial service . . . St. Margaret's, 
Westminster . . . among those present . . . 
h'm, h'm, h'm . . . Sir Randle Filson . . , 



50 THE BIG DRUM 

wreaths were sent by . . . h'm, h'm, h'm, h'm 
. . . Sir Randle and Lady Filson ! [Replacing the 

press-cuttings upon the iable.'\ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

[Checking herse/f and turning to Westrip.] Our conversa- 
tion is strictly private, Mr. Westrip ? 

Westrip. 
[Somewhat disturbed^ Strictly. 

Miss Tracer. 

[Smiling at him winningly and ?noving to the settee be- 
fore the pireplace.~\ You're a nice boy ; I'm sure you 
wouldn't make mischief. [Sinking on to the settee with a 
yawn^ Oh ! Oh, I'm so weary ! 

Westrip. 
Weary .'* Before you've begun your morning's work! 

Miss Tracer. 
Before I've begun it ! I had a parade down-stairs in 
the servants' hall at a quarter-to- ten. 

Westrip. 
Parade ? 

Miss Tracer. 

We've two new women in the house who are perfect 
idiots. They can t remember to say, " yes, my lady " 
and " no, my lady " and " very good, my lady " when- 
ever Lady Filson speaks to them. One of them actually 
addressed her yesterday as " ma'am." I wonder the 
roof didn't fall in. 

Westrip. 
[Meditatively.l I've noticed that Sir Randle and Lady 
Filson have a great rehsh for being Sir'd and Lady'd, 



THE BIG DRUM 51 

Miss Tracer. 

Ha, ha! Rather! \_Over her shoulder^ You take a 
friendly hint. If your predecessor had Sir Randled and 
Lady Filson'd them more frequently, you wouldn't be 
standing in his shoes at this moment. 

Westrip. 

\In the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets^ 
Why was Sir Randle knighted, do you know ? 

Miss Tracer. 
Built a large drill-hall for the Territorials near his 
country place at Bramsfold. 

Westrip. 
\^[nnocently.'\ Oh, is he interested in the Territorials? 

Miss Tracer. 

{Partly raising herself. '\ Interested in the Territorials ! 
How simple you are ! He cares as much for the Terri- 
torials as I care for snakes. [Kneeling upon the settee and 
resting her arms on the back of it, talkatively.'] The drill- 
hall was her notion ; she engineered the whole affair. 

Westrip. 
{Opening his eyes wider and wider. '\ Lady Filson ? 

Miss Tracer. 

{Nodding^ Her maid's my informant. A few years 
ago he was growing frightfully down-in-the-mouth. He 
fancied he'd got stuck, as it were — that everybody was 
getting an honor but himself. So the blessed shanty 
was run up in a devil of a hurry — excuse my Greek ; and 
as soon as it was dry, Mrs. Filson, as she then was, wrote 
to some big-wig or other — without her husband's knowl- 
edge, she explained — and called attention to the service 



52 THE BIG DRUM 

he'd rendered to the cause of patriotism. Lambert saw 
the draft of the letter on her mistress's dressing-table. 
\Shaking with laughter. ~\ Ho, ho, ho! And what d'ye 
think ? 

Westrip. 
W-well? 

Miss Tracer. 
The corrections were in his handwriting ! 

Westrip. 
\Shocked7\ In Sir Randle's ! 

Miss Tracer. 

[yumpingupr\ Phiou ! I'm fearfully indiscreet. {^Go- 
ing to Westrip and touching his coat-sleeve. '] Between 
ourselves, Mr. Westrip ! 

Westrip. 
[Moving to the round table.~\ Quite — quite. 

Miss Tracer. 

[Following him.'\ Oh, they're not a bad sort, by any 
means, if you just humor them a bit. We all have our 
little weaknesses, haven't we ? I've mine, I confess. 

Westrip. 

They've both been excessively kind to me. [Turning 
to her.^ And as for Madame de Chaumi^ 

Miss Tracer. 
Oh, she's a dear — a regular dear ! 

Westrip. 
[Fervently. ~\ By Jove, isn't she I 



THE BIO DRUM 6^ 

Miss Tracer. 

But then, my theory is that she was changed at her 
birth. She s not a genuine Filson, I'll swear. [Sud- 
denly walking away from him.'\ H'sh ! 

[Lady Filson, a handsome , complacent woman 
of about fifty-seven, enters from the hall. 

Lady Filson. 
\Who carries a hand-bag crammed with letters ^ cards 
of invitation, etc.'] Good-morning. 

Miss Tracer and Westrip. 
Good-morning, Lady Filson. 

Lady Filson. 
\_Closing the door and advancing.] Oh, Mr. Westrip, I 
wish you'd try to find the last number of the Trifler. It 
must have been taken out of my bedroom by one of the 
servants. 

Westrip. 

[Searching among the periodicals on the round table.] 
Certainly, Lady Filson. 

Miss Tracer. 

Oh, Lady Filson, don't keep that horrid snapshot of 
you and Sir Randle ! It's too unflattering. 

Lady Filson. 

\At the writing-table.] As if that mattered ! So are the 
portraits of Lord and Lady Sturminster on the same 
page. [Sitting at the table and emptying her bag.] These 
absurd things give Sir Randle and me a hearty laugh ; 
that's why I preserve them. 



64 THE BIO DRUM 

Westrip. 

It isn't here. [Going to the glazed door^ 1*11 hunt for 
it down-stairs. 

Lady Filson. 

Thank you. [Discovering the pile of press-cuttings.'] 
What's this? [Affecting annoyance.] Not more press- 
cuttings I [Beginning to devour the cuttings.] Tcht, tcht, 
tcht ! 

[As Westrip reaches the door, Bertram Filson 
enters. He is wearing riding-dress. 

Bertram. 

[A conceited, pompous young man of thirty.] Good- 
morning, Mr. Westrip. 

Westrip. 

Good-morning, Mr. Filson. 

[Westrip ^(£?(?j out, closing the door. 

Bertram. 
[Tb Miss Tracer.] Good-morning, Miss Tracer. 

Miss Tracer. 

[ Who has seated herself in the chair at ihefufiher side 
of the writing- table — meekly.] Good-morning. 

Lady Filson. 

[Half turning to Bertram, the press-cuttings in her 
hand.] Ah, my darling ! Was that you I saw speaking 
to Underwood as I came through the hall ? 

Bertram. 
Yes, mother dear. [Bending over her and kissing her.] 
How are you ? 



THE BIG DRUM ^ 

Lady Filson. 
\_Dotingly .'] Enjoyed your ride, my pet ? 

Bertram. 
Fairly, mother. 

Lady Filson. 
Only fairly ? 

Bertram. 

[^Shutting his eyes.'} Such an appalling crowd of ordi- 
nary people in the Row, 1 mean t'say. 

Lady Filson. 

How dreadful for you ! [Giving him the press-cuttings.'] 
Sit down, if you're not too warm, and look at this rubbish 
while I talk to Miss Tracer. 

Bertram. 
Press-cuttings? 

Lady Filson. 

Isn't it strange, the way the papers follow all our 
doings ! 

Bertram. 

Not in the least, mother. \Sitting upon the settee on 
the right and reading the press-cuttings^ I mean t'say, I 
consider it perfectly right and proper. 

Lady Filson. 

\Soriing her letters and cards — to Miss Tracer.] 
There's not much this morning, Miss Tracer. [Hand- 
ing some letters to Miss Tracer.] You can deal with 
these. 

Miss Tracer. 
Thank you, Lady Filson. 



56 THE BIO DRUM 

Lady Filson. 

[^Reading a letier.~\ Lady Skewes and Mrs. Walter 
Quebec . . . arranging a concert in aid of . . . 
[sighing] tickets, of course ! . . . what tiring women ! 
. . . [turning the sheet] oh ! . . . niay they in- 
clude me in their list of patronesses? . . . Princess 
Cagliari-Tamponi, the Countess of Harrogate, the 
Viscountess Chepmell, Lady Kathleen Tring . . . 
[laying the letter aside] delighted. [Heaping together 
the cards and the rest of the letters.] I must answer those 
myself. [T^ Miss Tracer.] That's all. [Miss Tracer 
risesJ] Get on with the invitations for July the eighth as 
quickly as you can. 

Miss Tracer. 
[Going to the glazed door.] Yes, Lady Filson. 

Lady Filson. 
[Turning.] Miss Tracer 

Miss Tracer. 
[Halting.] Yes, Lady Filson? 

Lady Filson. 

I think Madame de Chaumie wants you to do some 
little commissions for her. Kindly see her before you go 
to your room. 

Bertram. 
[7o Miss Tracer, looking up.] No, no ; don't. 

Lady Filson. 
[72? Bertram.] Not? 

Bertram. 
My sister is engaged, mother. 



TME BIG DRUM 57 

Lady Filson. 
Engaged ? 

Bertram. 
With Sir Timothy Barradell. 

Lady Filson. 
Oh ? [r^ Miss Tracer.] By-and-by, then. 

Miss Tracer. 

Yes, Lady Filson, 

[Miss Tracer departs, closing the door. 

Lady Filson. 
[ To Bertram, eagerfy."] Sir Timothy ! 

Bertram. 

He called half-an-hour ago, mother, Underwood tells 
me, with a note for Ottoline. 

Lady Filson. 
From himself? 

Bertram. 

Presumably ; and Dilworth came down and took him 
up to her boudoir. 

Lady Filson. 
[^Rising."] An unusual time of day for a call ! \^AP' 
proaching Bertram and speaking under her breath.'] 
Are matters coming to a head between them, my dear 
boy ? 

Bertram. 

Don't ask me, mother. [^Rising."] You are as capable 
of forming an opinion as I am, I mean t'say. 



58 THE BIG DRUM 

Lady Filson. 

I've a feeling that something is in the air. He posi- 
tively shadowed her last night at the Gorhams' ! 

Bertram. 
\Knitting his brows.'\ I admit I should prefer, if my 
sister contemplates marrying again, that her choice fell 
on one of the others. 

Lady Filson. 
Mr. Trefusis — or George Delacour ? 

Bertram. 

Even Trevor Wilson. [ Wincing.'] The idea of a mer- 
chant brother-in-law doesn't appeal to me very strongly, 
I mean t'say. 

Lady Filson. 



Bertram. 



Lady Filson. 



Still, a baronet — 
And I suppose — 

Oh, enormously ! 

Bertram. 

[Magnanimously.] Anyhow, my dear mother, if Otto- 
line is fond of the man, I promise you that not a murmur 
from me shall mar their happiness. 

Lady Filson. 
[Tenderly, pinching his chin.] My darling ! 

Bertram. 

[ With a shiver.] I'm afraid I am getting a little 
chilled ; [giving her the press-cuttings] I'll go and 
change. 



THE BIG DRUM 69 

Lady Filson. 
Oh, my pet, run away at once ! 

[She moves to the settee on the right. He pauses 
to gaze at her. 

Bertram. 
You look exceedingly handsome this morning, mother. 

Lady Filson. 

[Gratified^ Do I, Bertram? [Seating herself upon the 
settee, and again applying herself to the press-cuttings, as 
Bertram goes to the glazed door.~\ In spite of my late 
hours ! 

Bertram. 

[opening the doori] Here's my father 

[Sir Randle Filson enters, dressed in mourn- 
ing. He is a man of sixty-three, of cominand- 
ing presence, with a head resembling that of 
Alexandre Dumas Fils in the portrait by Meis- 
sonier, and a bland, florid manner, fie seems 
to derive much satisfaction from listening to the 
rich modulations of his voice. 

Sir Randle. 

Bertram, my boy ! [Kissing him upon the cheek."] Been 
riding, eh? 

Bertram. 
Yes. I'm just going to change, father. 

Sir Randle. 

That's right ; don't risk catching cold, whatever you do. 
[Seeing Lady Filson and coming forward.'] Ah, your 
dear mother is down ! 

[Bertram goes out, closing the door. 



60 THE BIG DRUM 

Lady Filson. 

\_Beamingupon Sir Randle.] You haven't been long, 
Randle. 

Sir Randle. 

\A cloud overshadowing hisface.~] I didn't remain for 
the Dead March, Winnie. \l'aking off his black gioves.'] 
I need hardly have troubled to go at all, as it turned out. 

Lady Filson. 
Why, dear ? 

Sir Randle. 

The sad business was most abominably mismanaged. 
No reporters. 

No reporters ! 



Lady Filson. 



Sir Randle. 

Not a single pressman in the porch. \_B lowing into a 
glove. '] Pfhh ! Poor old Macfarlane ! [Pulling at his 
second glove.'] The pubhc will never learn the names of 
those who assembled, at serious inconvenience to them- 
selves, to pay respect to his memory. 

Lady Filson. 
Shocking ! 

Sir Randle. 

[^Blowing.'] Pfhh ! [^Folding the gloves neatly.] I am 
almost glad, in the circumstances, that I didn't regard it 
as an event which laid me under an obhgation to send 
flowers. 

Lady Filson- 
\With a change of tone ?^ Er — Randle 



THE BIG DRUM 61 

Sir Randle 
\_Putting his gloves into his tail-pocket^ Yes, dear. 

Lady Filson. 
\_Significantly.'\ Sir Timothy is up-stairs. 

Sir Randle. 
Sir Timothy Barradell ? 

Lady Filson. 
\Nodding7\ With Ottohne, in her sitting-room. 

Sir Randle. 
Indeed? 

Lady Filson. 

He brought a note for her half-an-hour ago, evidently 
asking her to receive him. 

Sir Randle. 
[Going to Lady Filson.] An early call ! 

Lady Filson. 
Extremely. 

Sir Randle. 
[Sitting near her, in the armchair on the left of the 
settee, and pursing his lips.l ^^ may mean nothing. 

Lady Filson. 
Oh, nothing. 

Sir Randle. 

[Examining his nailsJ] A nice, amiable fellow. 

Lady Filson. 
Full of fine quahties, if I'm any jud^e of character. 



62 THE BIG DRUM 

Sir Randle. 
None the worse for being self-made, Winnie. 

Lady Filson. 

Not in my estimation. 

Sir Randle. 
H'm, h'm, h'm, h'm ! 

Lady Filson. 
[Softly.'] It wouldn't soundhdid., Randle. 

Sir Randle. 

[Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes,] " Lady 
Barradell." 

Lady Filson. 
[In the same way.] " Lady Barradell." 

Sir Randle. 

[In a murmur, but with great gusto.] " A marriage is 
arranged and will shortly take place between Sir Timothy 
Barradell, Bart., of i6, The Albany, and Bryanstown 
Park, County Wicklovv, and Ottoline, widow of the late 
Comte de Chaumie, only daughter of Sir Randle and 
Lady Filson, of 71, Ennismore Gardens, and Pickhurst, 
Bramsfold, Sussex." 

Lady Filson. 

[After a short />ause, in a low voice.] Darling Ottoline ! 
What a wedding she shall have ! 

[Again there is a pause, and then Sir Randle 
leaves his chair and seats himself beside Lady 
Filson, 



THE BIG DRUM 63 

Sir Randle. 

\_Putting his arm round her, fondly. '\ Mother ! 

[ They look at one another, and he draws her to him 
and kisses her. As he does so, the glazed door 
opens and Westrip returns, carrying an illus- 
trated-weekly. Lady Filson rises hastily and 
goes to the writing-table. 

Westrip. 
\Handing her the paper.'\ It was in the servants' hall, 
Lady Filson. 

Lady Filson. 

\_Laying the paper and the press-cuttings upon the writ- 
ing-table, and sitting at the table and busying herself with 
her letters.'] Thank you so much. 

Westrip. 
[ To Sir Randle.] Are you ready for me now, Sir 

Randle ? 

Sir Randle. 

[Abstractedly.'] Er — is there anything of grave im- 
portance to-day, Mr. Westrip ? I forget. 

Westrip. 

[Coming to him.] Boxfield and Henderson, the pho- 
tographers, are anxious to photograph you and Lady 
Filson for their series of " Notable People," Sir Randle. 

Sir Randle. 

[Rolling his head from side to side.] Oh ! Oh, dear ; 
oh, dear ! 

Lady Filson. 
[Wearily.] Oh, dear! 



64 THE BIG DRUM 

Sir Randle. 
How we are pestered, Lady Filson and I ! 

Lady Filson. 
Terrible ! 

Sir Randle. 
No peace ! No peace ! 

Lady Filson. 
Or privacy. 

Westrip. 

[^Producing a note-book from his pocket.'] They will at- 
tend here any morning convenient to you and Lady 
Filson, Sir Randle. It won't take ten minutes. 

Sir Randle. 
[To Lady Filson, resignedly.'] Winnie ? 

Lady Filson. 

[^Entering the appointment on a tablet.] Tuesday at 
eleven. 

Sir Randle. 
\To Westrip.] Remind me. 

Westrip. 
[ Writing in his note-book.] Yes, Sir Randle. 

Sir Randle. 

And advise Madame de Chaumie and Mr. Bertram, 
with my love, of the appointment. Her ladyship and I 
will be photographed with our children grouped round us. 

Westrip. 

[7d7 Sir Randle.] Then there's a telegram from th^ 
Daily Monitor, Sir Randle r 



TBE BIG DBl^M 65 

Sir Randle. 

[Puffing himself out.'] Ah, yes! The editor solicits 
my views upon — what is the subject of the discussion 
which is being carried on in his admirable journal, 
Mr. Westrip? 

Westrip. 
*' Should Women Marry under Thirty ? " 

Sir Randle. 

H'm! {Musingly.^ Should Women Marry under 
Thirty ? [/i? Westrip.] Reply paid ? 

Westrip. 
Forty -eight words. 

Sir Randle. 

[Rising and strolling across to Lady Filson, as if 
seeking for inspiratio?i.'\ Should Women Marry under 

Thirty? [Humming.^ H'm, h'm, h'm ! [To Lady 

Filson.] Winnie ? 

Lady Filson. 

[Looking up at him.'] I was considerably under thirty 
when we married, Randle. 

Sir Randle. 

[Triumphantly.] Ha! {Chuckling.] Ho, ho, ho! 
Capital ! Ho, ho, ho ! [Patting Lady Filson' s shoul- 
der.] Clever ! Clever ! [ To Westrip, grandly.] There 
we have my response to the inquiry, Mr. Westrip. [Clos- 
ing his eyes again.] Sir Randle Filson's views are best 
expressed by the statement that Lady Filson was con- 
siderably under thirty when she did him the honor of — 
er — becoming his wife. 



66 THE BIO DRUM 

Westrip. 
Excellent, sir. 

Sir Randle. 

[^Opening his eyes.'] Pray amplify that in graceful lan- 
guage, Mr. Westrip — restricting yourself to forty-eight 

words \^//e breaks off, interrupted by the appeat'ance 

of Ottoline at the glazed door.] Ah, my darling ! 

Ottoline. 
Good-morning, Dad. \To Westrip.] Good-morning, 

Westrip. 
\_Shyly^ Good-morning. 

Ottoline. 

\To Sir Randle — advancing a few steps, but leaving 
the door open.] Are you and mother busy ? 

Sir Randle. 
Not at all. 

Lady Filson. 

\Who has turned in her chair at Ottoline' s entrance.] 
Not at all, Otto. 

Sir Randle. 

[7b Westrip.] I will join you in the library, Mr. 
Westrip. [Westrip withdraws at the door on the left, 
and Sir Randle goes to Ottoline and embraces her.] 
My dear child ! 

Ottoline. 

[/« rather a strained voice,] Sir Timothy Bairadell is 
here. Dad. 

Sir Randle. 
I heard he had called. 



TEE BIG DRUM fgt 

Lady Filson. 
So sweet of him to treat us informally ! 

Ottoline. 
\_To Lady Filson.] He would like to see you and 
Dad for a minute or two, mother 

Lady Filson. 
Charmed ! 

Sir Randle. 
Delighted ! 

Ottoline. 
Just to — just to bid you good-bye. 

Lady Filson. 

Good-bye ? 

Sir Randle. 
Good-bye ? 

Ottoline. 
Yes ; he's going away — abroad — for some months. 
[^IVith a motion of her head towards the hall.'] He's in 
the hall. May I ? 

Lady Filson. 
[^Rising. '\ Er — do. 

Sir Randle. 
Do. 

Ottoline. 

[Returning to the door and calling.'] Sir Timothy ! 

[There is a brief pause, during which SiR Randle 
and Lady Filson interrogate each other si- 



68 THE BIG DRUM 

lently, and then Sir Timothy Barradell 
enters. He is a well-knit, pleasant-looking 
Irishmati of about forty, speaking with a slight 
brogue. 

Lady Filson. 
[^Advancing to greet him.'] My dear Sir Timothy ! 

Sir Timothy. 

[^As they shake hattds.'] And how's my lady this morn- 
ing? Are you well? 

Ottoline. 
[At the door.] I'll leave you 



Sir Timothy. 

[Turning to her hastily.] Ah ! [Taking her hand.] 

I'm not to see you again? 

Ottoline. 

[Shaking her head.] No. [Smiling.'] We've said good- 
bye up-stairs. [ Withdrawing her hand.] Que Dieu vous 
protege! Good luck to you ! 

Sir Timothy. 
[Ruefully.] Luck! [In an undertone:] I've never had 
anything else till now ; and now it's out entirely. 

Ottoline. 

[Gently.] Shsssh ! 

[She goes into the hall and he stands watching her 
till she disappears. Then he closes the doof 
and faces Lady Filson and Sir Randel. 

Sir Timothy. 

[Mournfully but good- humoredly.] Ha ! That' s over. 



TEE BIG DRUM 69 

Lady Filson. 
Over? 

Sir Randle. 
Over ? 

Sir Timothy. 

Over. {^Passing Lady Filson and shaking hands with 
Sir Randle,] It might be that it 'ud be more decent 
and appropriate for me to write you a letter, Sir Randle ; 
but I'm not much of a hand at letter-writing, and I've 
your daughter's permission to tell you by word of mouth 
that — that she — [to Lady Filson] but perhaps you can 
guess, both of you ? 



Guess ? 

Guess ? 



Lady Filson. 
Sir Randle. 



Sir Timothy. 

\Rumpling his hair.'\ The fact is, it isn't exactly easy 
or agreeable to describe what's occurred in plain terms. 

Sir Randle. 

[Encouragingly .~\ Can't you — can't you give us a 
hint ? 



Lady Filson. 



The merest hint 



Sir Timothy. 
Hint, is it! Ah, I can manage that. [With a bold 
effort.'] You're not to have me for your son-in-law. Is 
that hint enough.'' 



70 THE BIO DRUM 

Lady Filson. 
\Under her breath.'] Oh ! 

Sir Randle. 
God bless me! Frankly, I had no conception 

Lady Filson. 
Nor I — the faintest. 

Sir Timothy. 

And as I've received a great deal of kindness and hospi- 
tality in this house, I thought that, in common gratitude, 
I ought to explain the cause of my abrupt disappearance 
from your circle. 

Sir Randle. 

\^In a tone of deep commiseration^ I — I understand. 
You — you intend to ? 

Sir Timothy. 

To take a trip round the world, to endeavor to recover 
some of the wind that's been knocked out of me. 

Sir Randle. 
\Closing his eyes.] Distressing ! Distressing ! 

Lady Filson. 

Most. {Com^ing to Sir Timothy, feelingly^ Oh — oh, 
Sir Timothy ! 

Sir Timothy. 
[ With sudden bitterness^ Ah, Sir Timothy, Sir Timothy, 
Sir Timothy ! And what's the use of my baronetcy now, 
will you inform me — the baronetcy I bought and paid for, in 
hard cash, to better my footing in society ? The mockery 
of it ! Now that I've lost Iier, the one woman I shall 



THE BIG DRUM 71 

ever love, I don't care a rap for my footing in society ; 
\walking away] and anybody may have my baronetcy 
for tuppence ! 

Sir Randle. 
[^Reprovingly.'] My good friend ! 



Sir Timothy. 

[Turning to Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] And 
why not! The only advantage of my baronetcy, it 
strikes me, is that I'm charged double prices at every 
hotel I lay my head in, and am expected to shower 
gold on the waiters. [Sitting on the settee on the right 
and leaning his head on his hand,] Oh, the mockery of 
it ; the mockery of it ! 

Sir Randle. 

[Going to him,] If my profound sympathy — and Lady 
Filson's — [to Lady Filson] I may speak for you, 
Winnie ? 

Lady Filson. 
Certainly. 

Sir Randle. 

[To Sir Timothy.] If our profound sympathy is the 
smallest consolation to you 

Sir Timothy. 

[Emphatically, raising his head.] It is not. [With a 
despairing gestured] I'm broken-hearted, Sir Randle. 
That's what I am ; I'm broken-hearted. 

Lady Filson. 

[Sitting in the low-backed armchair on the left.] Oh, 
dear ! 



72 THE BIG DRUM 

Sir Timothy. 
[Sighing.'] If I'd had the pluck to declare myself 
sooner, it might have been different. [Staring before 
him.'] From the moment I first set eyes on her, at the 
dinner-party you gave to welcome her on her arrival in 
London — from that moment I was captured completely, 
body and soul. The sight of her as she stood in the 
drawing-room beside her mother, with her pretty, 
white face and her elegant figure, and a gown clinging 
to her that looked as though she'd been born in it — 
'twill never fade from me if 1 live to be as old as a dozen 
Methuselahs ! 

Sir Randle. 

\_P*yingly.'] Er — has Ottoline — I have no desire to 
probe an open wound — has she assigned any — rea- 
son ? 

Sir Timothy. 
{^Rousing himself.'] For rejecting me ? 

Sir Randle. 
\With a wave of the hand.] For 



Lady Filson. 
For not seeing her way clear 

Sir Randle. 
To — er — in short — accept you ? 

Sir Timothy. 
She has. 

Lady Fxlson. 
Has she ! 



THE BIG DRUM 73 

Sir Timothy. 

The best — and, for me, the worst — of reasons. There's 
another man in the case. 



Another ■ 
Another 



Sir Randle. 
Lady Filson. 



Sir Randle. 
\To Lady Filson.] Extraordinary ! 

Lady Filson. 
Bewildering. 

Sir Randle. 
We have been Wind, Winnie. 

Lady Filson. 
Absolutely. 

Sir Timothy. 

And, whoever he may be, I trust he'll worship her as 
devoutly as I do, and treat her with half the gentleness 
rd have treated her with, had she selected tne for her 
Number Two. 

Sir Randle. 
[Piously.'] Amen! [7^? Lady Filson.] Winifred ? 

Lady Filson. 
[Rather fretfully ] Amen. 

Sir Timothy. 

[Rising.'] And with that sentiment on my lips, and 
in every fibre of my body, I'll relieve you of my 



74 TEE BIO DRUM 

depressing company. [_Gotn£- to Lady Filson, who 
rises at his approach^ and taking her hand.'\ My dear 
lady 

Lady Filson. 
\Genuinelyi\ My dear Sir Timothy ! 

Sir Randle. 

\_Moving to the glazed door.'] Painful ! Painful ! 

[As Sir Timothy turns from Lady Filson, 
Bertram reappears, in morning- dress, enter- 
ing from the hall. 

Bertram. 

[Drawing back on seeing Sir Timothy.] Oh ! 

\lo Sir Randle.] Am I intruding ? 

Sir Randle. 

Come in, my boy. You're just in time to give a part- 
ing grasp of the hand to our friend here. 

Bertram, 
[Advancing to Sir Timothy, surprised.] Parting ? 

Lady Filson. 

[To Bertram.] Sir Timothy is going abroad, Ber- 
tram. 

Bertram. 

Really.-* [27? Sir Timothy.] Er — on business? 

Sir Timothy. 

Well, not precisely on pleasure. [Shaking hands with 
Bertram.] Good-bye to you. 

Bertram. 

[Puzzled.] Good-bye. [Sir Timothy makes a final 
bow to Lady Filson and departs, followedby Sir Randle, 



THE BIG DRUM 75 

who leaves the door open. Bertram tu7'ns to Lady Fil- 
SON inquiringly7[ What ? 

Lady Filson. 

[Pointing to the open door."] H'sh ! 

[Bertram shuts the door andhATtY Filson seats 
herself upon the settee on the right. 

Bertram. 
[Coming to her.~\ What has happened, mother? 

Lady Filson. 
What I conjectured. I was certain of it. 

Bertram. 
He has proposed to my sister? 

Lady Filson. 
Yes. 

Bertram. 

[Struck by his mother s manner. ~\ She has refused 
him ? 

Lady Filson. 
[Nodding. '\ She's dprise with another man. 

Bertram. 
Who is it ? 

Lady Filson. 
She didn't 

Bertram. 
Is it Trefusis ? 

Lady Filson. 
/beheve it's Delacour. 



76 THE BIG DRUM 

Bertram. 
\_Waiking about. ~\ Possibly! Possibly! 

Lady Filson. 

\^Anxiously.~\ I do liope she realizes what she's doing, 
Bertram. Sir Timothy could buy them both up, with 
something to spare. 

Bertram. 
I agree, my dear mother ; but it would have been hor- 
ribly offensive to us, I mean t'say, to see the name of 
Ottoline's husband branded upon sides of bacon in the 
windows of the provision-shops. 

Lady Filson. 

Oh, disgusting ! \_Brightening.'\ How sensibly you look 
at things, darling 1 

Bertram. 

\Taking up a position before the fireplace^ Whereas 
George Delacour and Edward Trefusis are undeniably 
gentlemen — gentlemen by birth and breeding, 1 mean 
t'say. 

Lady Filson. 

Trefusis is connected, through his brother, with the 
Northcrofts ! 

Bertram. 

Quite so. If Ottoline married Edward, she would be 
Lady Juliet's sister-in-law. 

Lady Filson. 
Upon my word, Bertie, I don't know which of the two 
I'd rather it turned out to be ! 

[Sir Randle returns, with a solemn countenance. 
He closes the door and comes forward. 



THE BIO DRUM *11 

Sir Randle. 
[7i7LADY FiLSON.] A melancholy morning, Winnie. 

Lady Filson. 

{Sighing.'l Ahhh! 

Sir Randle. 

[Producing a black-edged pocket-handkerchief and un- 
folding iti\ Poor Macfarlane — and then this! [Blowing 
his Jiose.'] Upsetting ! Upsetting ! [Glancing at Ber- 
tram.] Does Bertram ? 

Lady Filson. 

I've told him. 

Bertram. 

My dear father, I cannot — I cannot profess to regret 
my sister's decision. I mean to say ! 

Sir Randle. 

[Suddenly. ~\ Nor L [In an outburst, pacing the room.'] 
Nor I. I must be candid. It's my nature to be candid. 
A damned tradesman ! 

Bertram. 
Exactly. It shows my sister's delicacy and refinement, 
I mean t'say. 

Sir Randle. 
[To Lady Filson, halting.'] Who, in your opinion, 
Winnie — — ? 

Lady Filson. 
rm inclined to think it's Mr. Delacour. 

Sir Randle. 

[Resuming his walk.] So be it. [Raising his arms.] 
If I am to lose my child a second time — so be it. 



78 TBE BIG DRUM 

Bertram. 
/venture to suggest it may be Edward Trefusis. 

Sir Randle. 

[Ti? Bertram, halting again.'] My dear boy, in a mat- 
ter of this kind, I fancy we can rely on your motlier's 
wonderful powers of penetration. 

Bertram. 
[^Bowing.l^ Pardon, father. 

Lady Filson. 
[Closing her eyes.] " Mrs. George Delacour." 

Sir Randle. 

[Partly closing his eyes and again resuming his walk.] 
•* A marriage is arranged and will shortly take place be- 
tween George Holmby Delacour, of — of-— of — — " 

Bertram. 
[Closing his eyes ^ " 90, St. James's Street " 



Sir Randle. 

[//ailing and opening his eyes.] One thing J heartily 
deplore, Winifred 

Lady Filson. 
[Opening her eyes.] What is that, Randle ? 

Sir Randle. 

Ottoline being a widow, there can be no bridesmaids ; 
which deprives us of the happiness of paying a pretty 
comphment to the daughters of several families of dis- 
tinction whom we have the privilege of numbering among 
our acquaintances. 



THE BIG DRUM 79 

Lady Filson. 

There can be no bridesmaids, strictly speaking ; but a 
widow may be accompanied to the altar by a bevy of 
Maids of Honor. 

Sir Randle. 

Ah, yes 1 An equally good opportunity for an impos- 
ing — [closifig his eyes] and reverential display I [To Lady 
Fli.SON.] Lady Maundrell's girl Sybil, eh, Winnie? 

Lady Filson. 
Decidedly. And Lady Eva Sherringham, 

Bertram. 
Lady Lilian and Lady Constance Foxe — — 

Sir Randle. 

Lady Irene Pallant 

[Lady Filson rises and almost runs to the writing- 
table, where she sits and snatches at a sheet of 
paper. Sir Randle follows her ajtd stands 
beside her. 

Bertram. 

\Reclining upon the settee on the left.] Lady Blanche 
Finnis 

Lady Filson. 

[Seizing her pen.] Wait; don't be so quick! [Writ- 
ing.] " Hon. Sybil Maundrell " 

[The glazed door is opened softly and Ottoline 
enters. She pauses, looking at the group at 
the writing-table. 

Sir Randle. 

[To Lady Filson, as she writes.] Lady Eva Sherring- 
ham 



so ^HE BIO DRUM 

Bertram. 
Ladies Lilian and Constance Foxe 

Lady Filson. 

\_lVriting.'] " Lady Eva Sherringham — Ladies Lilian 
and Constance Foxe " 

Bertram. 
Lady Irene Pallant 

Sir Randle. 

I pray there may be no captious opposition from 
Ottoline. 

Lady Filson. 

Surely she doesn't want to be married like a middle- 
class widow from Putney ! \^M^rittng\. " Lady Blanche 
Finnis " 

Bertram. 

If pages are permissible — to carry my sister's train, I 
mean t'say 

Sir Randle. 
Pages — yes, yes 

Bertram. 

There are the two Galbraith boys — Httle Lord Wens- 
leydale and his brother Herbert 

Lady Filson. 
\_Writing.~\ Such picturesque children! 

Sir Randle. 

I doubt whether the bare civilities which have passed 
between ourselves and Lord and Lady Galbraith 



TEE BIG DRUM 81 

Lady Filson. 
They are country neighbors. 

Bertram. 

No harm in approaching them, my dear father. I 

mean to say ! 

[Ottoline shuts the door with a click. Sir 
Randle and Lady Filson turn, startled, and 
Lady Filson slips the list into a drawer. 

Sir Randle. 
\Benignly.'\ Otto ? 

Ottoline. 

\Jn a steady voice.'] Sorry to disturb you all over your 
elaborate preparations, Dad. I see Sir Timothy has 
saved me the trouble of breaking the news. 

Sir Randle. 
Y-you ? 

Ottoline. 

\_Nodding.'] You were too absorbed. I couldn't help 
Hstening. 

Sir Randle. 

Ahem! Sir Timothy didn't volunteer t\\Q information, 
Ottoline 

Ottoline. 

Peu mimporte ! [Advancing, smiling on one side of her 
Mouth.'] What a grand wedding you are planning for 
me! Quel projets mirifiques ! 

Sir Randle. 

\_Embarrassed.] Your dear rriother was — er — merely 
jotting down — — 



82 THE BIO DRUM 

Ottoline. 

[^Passing her hands over her face and walking to the 
settee on the right.'\ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Lady Filson. 

\Rising and moving to the fireplace, cojnpiainingly.'] 
Really, Ottohne ! 

Ottoline. 
[Sitting upon the settee, '\ Ha, ha, ha ! 

Lady Filson. 

\To Bertram, who is slowly getting to his feet.'] Go 
away, Bertie darling. 

Ottoline. 
Mais pourquoif Bertie knows everything, obviously. 

Lady Filson. 

Why shouldn't he, Otto? Your brother is as interested 
as we are 

Ottoline. 

But of course! Nature llement / [With a shrug.'] 
C est line affaire de famille. \To Bertram, who is now 
at the door on the left, his hand on the door-handle^ Come 
back, Bertie. \Repeating her wry smile.'] 1 shall be glad 
to receive your congratulations with mother's and Dad's. 
[To Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Sit down, Dad ; 
sit down, mother. [Sir Randle sits in the chair on the 
left of the settee on the right. Lady Filson in the low- 
backed armchair, and Bertram at the oblong table.] Are 
you very much surprised, dear people ? 

Sir Randle. 
Surprised ? Hardly. 



THE BIG DRUM 83 

Lady Filson. 
Poor Sir Timothy ! No, we are hardly surprised, 
Ottoline. 

Ottoline. 

Ah, but I don't mean surprised at my — having made 
Sir Timothy unhappy ; I mean surprised at hearing there 
is — some one else 

Sir Randle. 
My dear child, that surprises us even less. 

Lady Filson. 
Your dear father and I, Ottoline, are not unaware of 
the many eligible men who are — how shall I put it? — 
pursuing you with their attentions. 

Sir Randle. 

Parents are notoriously short-sighted ; but they are not 
necessarily — er — what are the things? — tssh ! — the crea- 
tures that flutter 

Bertram. 
Bats, father. 

Sir Randle. 
\_To Bertram.] Thank you, my boy. 

Ottoline. 

[^Tn a rigid attitude. "^ It's cowardly of me, perhaps, 
but I almost wish I had told Sir Timothy — a little 
more 

Lady Filson, 
Cowardly ? 



84 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline. 

So that he might have taken the edge off the announce- 
ment I'm going to make — and spared me 



Sir Randle. 



The edge 



Lady Filson. 

Spared you ? [Staring at Ottoline.] Ottohne, 

what on earth ! 

Ottoline. 

[Relaxingr^ Oh, I know I'm behaving as if I were 
a girl instead of a woman who has been married — a 
widow — free — independent — \to Sir Randle] thanks 
to your hberahty, Dad ! But, being at home, I seem 
to have lost, in a measure, my sense of personal 
hberty 

Sir Randle. 
[Blandly but uneasily. ~\ My child ! 

Ottoline. 

That's it! Child! Now that I've returned to you, 
I'm still a child — still an object for you to fix your hopes 
and expectations upon. The situation has slipped back, 
in your minds, pretty much to what it was in the old days 
in the Avenue Montaigne. You may protest that it isn't 
so, but it is. \Atiempti7ig a laugh.~\ That's why my knees 
are shaking at this moment, and my spine's all of a jelly ! 
[She rises and goes to the chair at the writing-table and 
grips the chair-rail. The others follow her apprehensively 
with their eyes.'] I — I'm afraid I'm about to disappoint 
you. 

Ladv Filson. 
H-how? 



THE BIG DMUM 85 

Sir Randle. 
Disap-point us ? 

Ottoline. 
lAdrupi/y.'] What's the time, Dad? 

Sir Randle. 

\Looking at a clock standing on a commode against 
the wall on the righi.~\ Twenty minutes past eleven. 

Ottoline. 

He — he will be here at half-past. Don't be angry. 
I've asked him to come — to explain his position clearly 
to you and mother with regard to me. There's to be 
nothing underhand — rien de secret! 

Lady Filson. 
A-asked whom ? 

Ottoline. 

\Throwing her head backr^ Ho! You'll think I'm 
ushering in an endless string of lovers this morning ! I 
promise you this is the last. 

Sir Randle. 
Who is coming ? 

Ottoline. 
\Sitting at the writing-table and, her elbows on the table, 
supporting her chin on her fists. '[ Mr. Mackworth. 

Lady Filson. 
{After a pause. ] M ack worth ? 

Ottoline. 
Philip Mackworth. 



86 THE BIO DRUM 

Lady Filson. 

\_Duiiy.'] Isn't he the journalist man you — you earned 
on with once, in Paris? 

Ottoline. 
What an expression, mother ! Well — yes. 

Sir Randle. 
[Simply. 1 Good God ! 

Ottoline. 
He doesn't write for the papers any longer. 

Lady Filson. 
W-what ? 

Ottoline. 
A novelist chiefly. 

Lady Filson. 
IFaintly.'] Oh ! 

Sir Randle. 
Successful ? 

Ottoline. 
It depends on what you call success. 

Sir Randle. 
/call success what everybody calls success. 

Bertram. 

\Rising, stricke}i.~\ There are novelists and novelists, 
I mean t'say. 



THE BIO DRUM 87 

Ottoline. 

Don't imagine that I am apologizing for him, please, in 
the sHghtest degree ; but no, he hasn t been successful up 
to the present, in the usual acceptation of the term. 

Lady Filson. 

[Searching for her handkerchief^ Where — where have 
you ? 

Ottoline. 

I met him yesterday at Robbie Roope's, at lunch. 
[Lady Filson ^;2^j her handkerchief and applies it to her 
eyes.] Oh, there's no need to cry, mother dear. For 
mercy's sake ! 

Lady Filson. 
Oh, Otto ! [Tiising and crossing to the settee on the 
right, whimpering.] Oh, Randle ! \To Bertram, who 
comes to her.] Oh, my boy ! 

Sir Randle. 

[Gazing blinkingly at the ceiling as Lady Filson sinks 
upon the settee.] Incredible! Incredible! 

Bertram. 

[Sitting beside Lady Filson, dazed,] My dear 
mother ! 

Ottoline. 

[Starting up.] Oh, do try to be understanding and 
sympathetic ! Mr. Mackworth is a high-souled, noble 
fellow. If I'd been honest with myself, I should have 
married him ten years ago. To me this is a golden 
dream come true. Recollect my bitter experience of the 
other sort of marriage ! [ Walking away to the fireplace.] 
Why grudge me a spark of romance in my life ! 



gg fHE BIG DRUM 

Sir Randle. 
[^Raising his handsJ] Romance ! 

Lady Filson. 

[7^ Sir Randle and Bertram.] Just now she was 
resenting our considering her a child ! 

Ottoline. 

\Looking down upon thefiowers in the grate.'] Romance 
doesn't belong to youth, mother. Youth is greedy for 
reality — the toy that feels solid in its fingers, /was, and 
bruised myself with it. After such a lesson as I've had, 
one yearns for something less tangible — something that 
lifts one morally out of oneself — an ideal ! 

Sir Randle. 

Ha ! An extract from a novel of Mr. Mackworth's 
apparently 1 

Lady Filson. 

[^Harshly.'] Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Ottoline. 

\_Turning sharply and comi7ig forward.] Sssh ! Don't 
you sneer, mother! Don't you sneer. Dad! \Her eyes 
flashing.] C est au-dessus de vous de sentir ce qu il y a 
d'eleve et de grand! [^Fiercely.] Tenez! Qu il vous 

piaise ou non ! 

\She is checked by the entrance of Underwood 
from the hall. 

Underwood. 

[Addressing the back of Lady Filson's head.] Mr, 
Philip Mackworth, m'lady. 

Lady Filson. 
[Straightening herself] Not for me. [Firmly.] For 
Madame de Chaumi^. 



THE BIG DRUM 89 

Underwood. 

I beg pardon, m'lady. The gentleman inquired for 
your ladyship 

Ottoline. 

[To Underwood.] In the drawing-room — \with a 
queenly atr] no, in my own room. 

Underwood. 

ITo Ottoline.] Yes, mad'm. 

[Underwood withdraws, 

Ottoline. 

{Approaching Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Dad — 
mother — — ? 

Lady Filson. 
Your father may do as he chooses, \Rising and cross- 
ing to the writing-table, where she sits and prepares to 
write. 1^ I have letters to answer. 

Ottoline. 
[72? Sir Randle.] Dad ? 

Sir Randle. 

\RisingJ\ Impossible — impossible. [Marching to the 
Jirepiace.'\ I cannot act apart from your dear mother. 
[His back to the fireplace, virtuously. '\ I never act apart 
from your dear mother. 

Ottoline. 

Comme vous voudrez I [Moving to the glazed door and 

there pausing^ You won t ? 

[Sir Randle blinks at the ceiling again. Lady 
Filson scribbles audibly with a scratchy pen. 
QiiQiA^^ goes out, closing the door. 



90 THE BIG DRUM 

Bertram. 

\yuinping up as the door shuts — in an expostulaiory 
ioner^ Good heavens ! My dear father — my dear 
mother ! 

Sir Randle. 
\_Coniing to earthy Eh ? 

Bertram. 

\Agitatedly7^ My sister will pack her trunks and be 
off to an hotel if you're not careful. She won't stand 
this, I mean t'say. There'll be a marriage at the regis- 
trar's, or some ghastly proceeding — a scandal — all kinds 
of gossip ! 

Lady Filson. 

[Throwing down her pen and rising — holding her he art. '\ 
Oh ! 

Bertram. 
[ With energy^ I mean to say ! 

Sir Randle. 
{To Lady Filson, blankly. '\ Winnie ? 

Lady Filson. 
R-Randle ? 

Sir Randle. 

[^Biting his nails. "] He's right. [Bertram hastens to 
the glazed door.'] Dear Bertram is right. 

Bertram. 
\Opening the door.] You'll see him ? 

Lady Filson. 
Y-yes. 



THE BIO DRUM 9l 

Sir Randle. 

Yes. [Bertram disappears. Sir Randle paces the 
room at the back, waving his arms.'] Oh ! Oh ! 

Lady Filson. 
[Going to the fireplace.] I won't be civil to him, 
Randle ! The impertinence of his visit ! I won't be 
civil to him ! 

Sir Randle. 
A calamity ! An unmerited calamity ! 

Lady Filson. 

[Dropping on to the settee before the fireplace.] She's 
mad ! That's the only excuse I can make for her I 

Sir Randle. 
Stark mad ! A calamity. 

Lady Filson. 
You remember the man ? 

Sir Randle. 

[ Taking a book from the rack on the oblong table and 
hurriedly turning its pages.] A supercilious, patronizing 
person — son of a wretched country parson — used to loll 
against the wall of your salon — with his nose in the air. 

Lady Filson. 

[Tearfully^ A stroke of bad fortune at last, Randle ! 
Fancy ! Everything has always gone so well with 
us ! 

Sir Randle. 
[Suddenly y groaning.] Oh ! 



92 THE BIG DRUM 

Lady Filson. 
\_Over her shoulder.'] What is it? I can't bear much 
more 

Sir Randle. 

He isn't even in Whos Who, Winnie ! 

[Bertram returns, out of breath. 

Bertram. 

I caught her on the stairs. [Closing the door.] She'll 
bring him down. 

Lady Filson. 

[Weakly.] I won't be civil to him. I refuse to be civil 
to him. 

Sir Randle. 
[Replacing the book in the rack and sitting in the chair 
at the oblong table— groaning again.] Oh ! 

[There is a short silence, Bertram slowly ad- 
vances. 

Bertram. 

[Heavily, drawing his hand across his brow.] Of 
course, my dear father — my dear mother — we must do 
our utmost to quash it — strain every nerve, I mean 
t'say, to stop my sister from committing this stupendous 
act of folly. 

Lady Filson. 
[Rocking herself to and fro.] Oh! Oh! 

Sir Randle. 
A beggarly author ! 

Bertram. 
[The picture of dejection.] But if the worst comes to 
the worst — if she's obdurate, I mean t'say — an alUance 



THE BIG DRUM 93 

between Society and Literature — I suppose there's no 
actual disgrace in it. 

Sir Randle. 
A duffer — a duffer whose trash doesn't sell ! 

Lady Filson. 

Taking advantage of a silly, emotional woman, to 
feather his nest ! 

Sir Randle. 

[Rising and pacing up and down between the glazed 
door and the settee on the right.'] I shall have difficulty 
— [shaking his uplifted fist] I shall have difficulty in re- 
straining myself from denouncing Mr. Mackworth in her 
presence ! 

Bertram. 
[Dismally.] As to the wedding, there's no reason 
that I can see — because a lady marries a literary man, 
I mean t'say — why the function should be a shabby 
one. 

Lady Filson. 

[Rising and moving about at the back distractedly^ 
That it sha'n't be! If we can't prevent my poor girl 
from throwing herself away, I'm determined her wedding 
shall be smart and impressive ! 

Sir Randle. 

[Bitterly, with wild gestures.] ' ' The interesting engage- 
ment is announced of Mr. — Mr. " 

Bertram. 

[Wandering to the fireplace ^ his chin on his breast^ 
Philip, father. 



94 THE BIG DRUM 

Sir Randle. 
" — Mr. Philip Mackworth, the well-known novelist, 
to Ottoline, widow of the late Comte de Chaumie — 
[_peepmg into the hall through the side of one of the cur- 
tains of the glazed door — his voice dying to a muiter\ only 
daughter of Sir Randle and Lady Filson ' ' 

Lady Filson. 

" Mrs.— Philip— Mackworth " ! Ha, ha, ha! Mrs. 
Philip Nobody ! 

Bertram. 
\jfoining her.'] Perhaps it would be wiser, mother, for 
me to retire while the interview takes place. 

Lady Filson. 
\Falling upon his neck.] Oh, my dear boy ! 

Sir Randle. 
[Getting away fro7n the door.] They're coming ! 

Bertram. 
IQuichly.] I'm near you if you want me, I mean 
t'say 



[//e goes out at the door on the left. Lady Filson 
hastily resumes her seat at the writi fig- table, 
and Sir Randle, pulling himself together, 
crosses to the fireplace. The glazed door opens 
and Ottoline appears with Philip. 

Ottoline. 
[Quietly.] Mr. Mackworth, mother — Dad 

Philip. 
{^Advancing to Lady Filson cordially.] How do you 
do, Lady Filson? 



THE BIG DRUM 95 

Lady Filson. 

[^Giving him a reluctant hand and eyeing him askance 
with mingled aversion and indignation. '\ H-how do you 
do? 

Philip. 

This is very good of you. [Bowing to Sir Randle.] 
How are you, Sir Randle ? 

Sir Randle. 

[His head in the air, severely^ How do you do, Mr. 
Mackworth ? 

Philip. 
[Breaking the ice."] We — we meet after many years 

Sir Randle. 
Many. 

Lady Filson. 
[Still examining Philip.] M-many. 

Philip. 
And— if you've ever bestowed a thought on me since 
the old Paris days — in a way you can scarcely have ex- 
pected. 

Lady Filson. 

[ Turning to the writing-table to conceal her repugnance,'] 
Scarcely. 

Sir Randle. 
Scarcely. 

Philip. 
[To Sir Randle] Oh, I am not vain enough, Sir 
Randle, to flatter myself that what you have heard from 



96 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline gives you and Lady Filson unmixed pleasure. 
On the contrary 

Lady Filson. 

\_GuIptng.'] Pleasure ! \Unable to repress herself, '\ Un- 
mixed ! Ho, ho, ho, ho ! 

Sir Randle. 
{Restraining her.'] Winifred ! 

Ottoline. 
{Coming to Lady Filson and touching her gently — in a 
low voice. ] M other ! 

Philip. 
{Smiling at Ottoline apologetically.'] It's my fault ; 
I provoked that. {Walking away to the right'] I ex- 
pressed myself rather clumsily, I'm afraid. 

Sir Randle. 

{Expanding his chest and advancing to Philip.] I 
gather from my daughter, Mr. Mackworth, that you are 
here for the purpose of " explaining your position " in re- 
lation to her. I believe I quote her words accurately 

Ottoline. 
{Moving to the fireplace^ Yes, Dad. 

Philip. 

That is so, Sir Randle — if you and Lady Filson will 

have the patience 

[Sir Randle motions Philip to the settee on the 
right. Philip sits. Then Ottoline sits on 
the settee before the fireplace, and SiR Randle 
in the armchair by Philip. Lady Filson 
turns in her chair to listen. 



THE BIQ DRUM 97 

Sir Randle. 
\To Philip, majestically. '\ Before you embark upon 
your explanation, permit me to define my position — mine 
and Lady Filson's. [Philip nodsT^ I am going to make 
a confession to you ; and I should like to feel that I am 
making it as one gentleman to another. [Philip nods 
again!\ Mr. Mackworth, Lady Filson and I are ambi- 
tious people. Not for ourselves. For ourselves, all we 
desire is rest and retirement — [closing his eyes~\ if it were 
possible, obscurity. But where our children are con- 
cerned, it is different ; and, to be frank — I must be frank 
— we had hoped that, in the event of Ottoline remarry- 
ing, she would contract such a marriage as is commonly 
described as briUiant. 

Philip. 

[_Dryly.'\ Such a marriage as her marriage to Monsieur 
de Chaumie, for example. 

Sir Randle. 

[Closing his eyes.'\ De mortuis, Mr. Mackworth ! I 
must decline 

Philip. 

I merely wished, as a basis of argument, to get at your 
exact interpretation of brilliancy. 

Sir Randle. 
[Dismissing the point with a wave of the hand."] It is 
easy for you, therefore, as you have already intimated, 
to judge what are our sensations at receiving my daugh- 
ter's communication. 

Philip. 
[^Nodding.'] They are distinctly disagreeable. 



d8 THE BIO DRUM 

Sir Randle. 

[Conscientiously.'] They are — I won't exaggerate — I 
mustn't exaggerate — they are not far removed from dis- 
may. 

Lady Filson. 
Utter dismay. 

Sir Randle. 

[Shifting- his chair — to Philip,] I learn — I learn from 
Ottoline that you have forsaken the field of journaUsm, 
Mr. Mackworth, and now devote yourself exclusively to 
creative work? [Another nod from Philip.] But you 
have not — to use my daughter's phrase — up to the present 
— er 

Philip. 
[Nursing his leg.'] Please go on. 

Sir Randle. 
You have not been eminently successful ? 

Philip. 
Not yet. Not with the wide public. No ; not yet. 

Sir Randle. 
Forgive me — any private resources ? 

Philip. 

None worth mentioning. Two-hundred-a-year, left 
me by an old aunt. 

Lady Filson. 
[ Under her breath.] Ho ! 

Sir Randle. 

[To her.] My dear ! [7c> Philip,] On the other 

hand, Mr. Mackworth, as you are probably aware, my 



THE BIG DRUM 99 

daughter is — no, I won't say a rich woman — I will say 
comfortably provided for ; not by the late Comte de 
Chaumie, but by myself. [Ciosing his eyesS^ I have never 
been a niggardly parent, Mr. Mackworth. 

Ottoline. 
\Softly, without turning^ Indeed, no, Dad ! 

Philip. 

\^To Sir Randle, bluntly.'] Yes, I do know of the set- 
tlement you made upon Ottoline on her marriage, and of 
your having supplemented it when she became a widow. 
Very handsome of you. 

Lady Filson. 
\As before.] Ha ! 

Sir Randle. 

\_Leaning back in his chair.] There then, my dear Mr. 
Mackworth, is the state of the case. Ottohne is beyond 
our control ■ — — 

Lady Filson. 
Unhappily. 

Sir Randle. 
If she will deal this crushing blow to her mother and 
myself, we must bow our heads to it. But, for the sake 
of your self-esteem, I beg you to reflect ! {^Partly to 
Philip, partly at Ottoline.] What construction would 
be put upon a union between you and Madame de 
Chaumie — between a lady of means and — I wz/^/be cruel 
— I must be brutal — a man who is — commercially at least 
— a failure ? 

Lady Filson. 
There could only be one construction put upon it ! 



loo THE BIO DRUM 

Ottoline. 
[i?wmjf.] Mother ! 

Philip. 

[72? Sir Randle, caimlyJ] Oh, but— ah, Ottoline hasn't 
told you ! 

Ottoline. 
[Ti? Philip.] No, I hadn't time, Philip 

Philip. 

My dear Sir Randle — [rising and going to Lady Fil- 
SOn] — my dear Lady Filson — let me dispel your anxiety 
for the preservation of my self-esteem. Ottohne and I 
have no idea of getting married yet awhile. 

Ottoline, 
No, mother. 

Lady Filson. 
When, pray ? 

Philip. 

We have agreed to wait until I have ceased to be — 
commercially — a failure. 

Ottoline. 

[To Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Until he has ob- 
tained public recognition ; [coming forward^ until, in fact, 
even the members of one s own family, Dad, can't im- 
pute unworthy motives. 

Sir Randle. 

[To Philip, incredulously — rising. 1 Until you have ob- 
tained public recognition, Mr. Mackworth ? 

Philip. 
[Smiling.'] Well, it may sound extravagant 



THE BIG DRUM 101 

Lady Filson. 
Grotesque ! 

Sir Randle. 
[ Walking about on the extreme nghtl\ Amazing ! 

Ottoline. 

Why grotesque ; why amazing ? [Sitting in the iow 
backed armchair.'] All that is amazing about it is that 
Philip should lack the superior courage which enables a 
man, in special circumstances, to sink his pride and ignore 
ill-natured comments. 

Philip. 

[7b Lady Filson.] At any rate, this is the arrange- 
ment that OttoHne and I have entered into ; and I sug- 
gest, with every respect, that you and Sir Randle should 
raise no obstacle to my seeing her under your roof occa- 
sionally. 

Lady Filson. 

As being preferable to hole-and-corner meetings in 
friends' houses ! 

Ottoline. 

l^Cootly.'] Or under lamp-posts in the streets — yes, 
mother. 

Lady Filson. 
\_Rising and crossing to the round table.] Ottoline ! 

Sir Randle. 
{Bearing down upon Philip.] May I ask, Mr. Mack- 
worth, how long you have been following your precarious 
profession? Pardon my ignorance. My reading is con- 
fined to our great journals; and there your name has 
escaped me. 



102 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 
Oh, I've been at it for nearly ten years. 

Lady Filson. 
Ten years ! 

Philip. 
[Ti? Sir Randle.] I began soon after I left Paris. 

Sir Randle. 

And what ground, sir, have you for anticipating that 
you will ever achieve popularity as a writer? 

Lady Filson. 
[^Sitting in the chair by the round table ^ Preposterous ! 

Ottoline. 

\Stamping her foot. '\ Mother ! [ 7l> SiR Randle.] 

Philip has high expectations of his next novel, Dad. It 
is to be published in the autumn — September. 

Sir Randle. 

\^To Philip.] And should that prove no more success- 
ful with the "wide public" than those which have 
preceded it ? 

Philip. 
' Then I — then I fling another at 'em. 

Sir Randle. 
Which would occupy you ? 

Philip. 
Twelve months. 

Lady Filson. 
And if that fails ! 



THE BIO DRUM 103 

Philip. 

[Smiling again, but rather constrainedly.'] Ah, you 
travel too quickly for me, Lady Filson — you and Sir 
Randle ! You heap disaster on disaster 

Sir Randle. 
If that fails, another twelve-months' labor ! 

Lady Filson. 
While my daughter is wasting the best years of her 
life! 

Sir Randle. 
[Indignantly.'] Really, Mr. M ack worth ! [Throwing 
himself upon the settee on the right.] Really ! I appeal 
to you ! Is this fair? 

Lady Filson. 
Is it fair to Ottoline ? 

Ottoline. 

Absolument ! So that it satisfies me to spend the best 
years of my life in this manner, I don't see what anybody 
has to complain of. Mon Dieu! I am reheved to think 
that some of my best years are still mine to squander ! 

Sir Randle. 

[To Philip, who is standing by the writing-table in 
thought, a look of disquiet on his face— persistently^ Mr. 
Mackworth ! 

Ottoline. 

[Rising impatiently^ My dear Dad — my dear mother 
— I propose that we postpone this discussion until Mr. 
Mackworth' s new book has failed to attract the public, 
\crossi7ig to Sir Randle] and that in the meantime he 



104 TEE BIQ DRUM 

sha'n't be scowled at when he presents himself in Ennis- 
more Gardens. [Seating herself beside Sir Randle and 
slipping her arm through his.^ Dad ! 

Lady Filson. 
\To Philip.] Mr. Mackworth 1 



Philip. 

[Rousing himself and turning to Sir Randle and Lady 
Filson — abruptly^ Look here, Sir Randle ! Look here, 
Lady Filson ! I own that this arrangement between 
OttoUne and me is an odd one. It was arrived at yester- 
day impulsively ; and, in her interests, there is a good 
deal to be said against it. 

Lady Filson. 
There's nothing to be said for it. Oh ! 



Sir Randle. 

[72> Lady Filson.] Winifred [7^ Philip.] Well, 

Mr. Mackworth? 

Philip. 
Well, Sir Randle, I — I'm prepared to take a sporting 
chance. It may be that I am misled by the sanguine 
temperament of the artist, who is apt to believe that his 
latest production will shake the earth to its foundation. 
I've gammoned myself before into such a behef, but — 
\resolutely\ I'll stake everything on my next book! I 
give you my word that if it isn't a success — an indispu- 
table popular success — I will join you both, in all sincerity, 
in urging Ottoline to break with me. Come ! Does that 
mollify you ? 

[There is a short silence. Sir Randle ««^Lady 
Filson look at each other in surprise and 
Ottoline stares at Philip open-mouthed^ 



THE BIG DRUM 105 

Ottoline. 
Philip 1 

Philip. 
[To Sir Randle.] Sir Randle ? 

Sir Randle. 
[ To Lady Filson.] Winnie ? 

Lady Filson. 
[/« a softer tone.'] It certainly seems to me that Mr. 
Mack worth's undertaking — as far as it goes 

Ottoline. 

{^IVith a queer laugh.] Ha, ha, ha ! As far as it goes, 
mother! {Rising, thoughtfully.] Doesn't it go a Uttle too 
far ? {Contracting her brows.] It disposes of 7ne as if I 
were of no more account than a sawdust doll! \_To 
Philip.] Ah, traitor! {In a low voice.] Vos promesses a 
unefemme sont sans valeur! 

Philip. 
{Taking her hands reassuringly.] No, no ! 

Ottoline. 

{Withdrawing her hands.] Zut ! {Moving slowly 
towards the glazed door.] You have acquitted yourself 
bravely, inon cher Monsieur Philippe l {Shrugging her 
shoulders.] Say good-bye and let me turn you out in 
disgrace. 

Philip. 

{Deprecatingly^ Ha, ha, ha! {Going to Lady Fil- 
son.] Good-bye, Lady Filson. {She rises and shakes 
hands with him.] Have I bought my right of entree ? I 
may ring your bell at discreet intervals till the end of 
the season? 



106 THE BIG DRUM 

Lady Filson. 

[5/^K.] Ottoline is her own mistress, Mr. Mack- 
worth ; \_more amiably] but apart from her, you will 
receive a card from me — music — Tuesday, July the 
eighth. 

[He bows and she crosses to the fireplace. Then 
he shakes hands with Sir Randle, who 
has risen and is standing in the middle of 
the room. 

Philip. 
[ To Sir Randle.] Good-bye. 

Sir Randle. 

[Detaining Philip, searchingly.'] Er — pardon me — this 
new novel of yours, on which you place so much reliance 
— pray don't think me curious 

Ottoline. 

[Suddenly.] Ha ! [Coming to the back of the settee on 
the right, her eyes gleaming scornfully at SiR Randle.] 
Tell my father, Philip— tell him 

Philip. 
[Shaking his head at her and frowning^ Otto 

Ottoline. 

Do ; as you told it to me yesterday. [Satirically.] It 
will help him to understand why your name has escaped 
him in the great journals ! 

Sir Randle. 

Any confidence you may repose in me, Mr. Mack- 
worth 



THE BIO DRUM 107 

Ottoline. 
\_Prompiing Philip.] It's called — allonst racontez 
done / 

Philip. 

{After a further look of protest at Ottoline — to Sir 
Randle, hesitatingly .'\ It's called "The Big Drum," 
Sir Randle. 

Sir Randle. 
{Elevating his eyebrows?^ " The Big Drum " ? {With 
an innocent air.^ Military ? 



No ; social. 
Social ? 



Philip. 
Sir Randle. 



Philip. 

{Leaning against the armchair on the left of the settee 
on the right!] It's an attempt to portray the struggle 
for notoriety — for self-advertisement — we see going on 
around us to-day. 

Sir Randle. 
Ah, yes ; lamentable ! 

Philip. 

{Deliberately, but losing himself in his subject as he 
proceeds.] It shows a vast crowd of men and women, 
sir, forcing themselves upon public attention without 
a shred of modesty, fighting to obtain it as if they are 
fighting for bread and meat. It shows how dignity and 
reserve have been cast aside as virtues that are anti- 
quated and outworn, until half the world — the world that 
should be orderly, harmonious, beautiful — has become 



108 THE BIG DRUM 

an arena for the exhibition of vulgar ostentation or al- 
most superhuman egoism — a cockpit resounding with 
raucous voices bellowing one against the other ! 

Sir Randle. 
[^Ciosing his eyes.'] A terrible picture ! 

Lady Filson. 
[ Closing her eyes.] Terrible . 

Philip. 

It shows the bishop and the judge playing to the 
gallery, the politician adopting the methods of the 
cheap-jack, the duchess vying with the puffing draper ; 
it shows how even true genius submits itself to condi- 
tions that are accepted and excused as "modern," and 
is found elbowing and pushing in the hurly-burly. It 
shows how the ordinary decencies of life are sacrificed 
to the paragraphist, the interviewer, and the ghoul with 
the camera ; how the home is stripped of its sanctity, 
blessed charity made a vehicle for display, the very 
graveyard transformed into a parade ground ; while the 
outsider looks on with a sinking of the vitals because the 
drumstick is beyond his reach and the bom-bom-bom is 

not for him / It shows ! \Checking himself and 

leaving the armchair with a short laugh.] Oh, well, 
that's the setting of my story. Sir Randle ! I won't in- 
flict the details upon you. 

Sir Randle. 
Er — h'm — {expansively] an excellent theme, Mr. Mack- 
worth ; a most promising theme ! {To Lady Filson.] 
Eh, Winifred ? 

Lady Filson. 
{Politely.] Excellent ; quite, quite excellent! 



THE BTO DRUM 109 

Philip. 

[Bowing to Lady Filson and going to Ottoline.] 
Thank you. 

Ottoline. 

[To VaiiAV, glowingly. '\ Splendid! [Laying her hand 
upon his arm7\ You have purged your disgrace. {Softly?^ 
You may come and see me to-morrow. 

Philip. 
[To Ottoline.] Ha, ha — ~! 

Sir Randle. 
[In response to a final bow from Philip.] Good-bye. 

Lady Filson. 

Good-hyt. 

[Ottoline opens the glazed door and Philip 
follows her into the hall. Immediately the 
door is shut. Lady Filson hurries to Sir 
Randle. 

Sir Randle. 
[In high spirits.l Winnie ! 

Lady Filson. 
That will never be a popular success, Randle ! 

Sir Randle. 
Never. An offensive book ! 

Lady Filson. 
Ho, ho, ho, ho ! 



ilO THE BIG DRUM 

Sir Randle. 
A grossly offensive book ! 

Lady Filson. 
[^Anxiously. ~\ He — he'll keep his word ? 

Sir Randle. 
To join us in persuading her to drop him 

Lady Filson. 
If it fails ? 

Sir Randle. 

\^Wttk conviction.'] Yes. {^Walking about.'] Yes. We 
must be just. We owe it to ourselves to be just to Mr. 
Mackworth. He is not altogether devoid of gentleman- 
like scruples. 

Lady Filson. 
[Breathlessly.] And — and she ? 



Sir Randle. 

I trust — I trust that my child's monstrous infatuation 
will have cooled down by the autumn. 

Lady Filson. 

[Supporting herself by the chair at the writing-table , 
her hand to her heart — exhausted.] Oh ! Oh, dear ! 

Sir Randle. 

[Returning to her.] I conducted the affair with skill 
and tact, Winifred ? 

Lady Filson. 

[Rallying.] It was masterly — [kissing hijn] mas- 
terly 



tBE BIO DRUM 111 

Sir Randle. 

[Proudiy.'\ Ha! 

[She sits at the writing-table again and takes up 
her pen as SiR Randle stalks to the door on 
the left. 

Lady Filson. 
Masterly ! 

Sir Randle. 

[Opening the door.'] Bertram — Bertram, my boy — 

Bertie ! 

[He disappears. Lady Filson scribbles vio- 
lently. 



END OF THE SECOND ACT 



THE THIRD ACT 

The scene represents two rooms y connected by a pair of wide 
doors y in a set of residential chambers on the upper floor 
of a house in Grafs Inn. The further room is the 
dining-room, the nearer room a study. In the wall at 
the back of the dining-room are two windows ; in the 
right-hand wall is a door leading to the kitchen ; and in 
the left-hand wall a door opens from a vestibule, where, 
opposite this door, there is another door which gives on 
to the landing of the common stair. 

In the study, a door in the right-hand wall admits to a 
bedroom ; in the wall facing the spectator is a door 
opening into the room from the vestibule ; and beyond 
the door on the right, in a piece of wall cutting off the 
corner of the room, is the fireplace. A bright fire is 
burning. 

The rooms are wainscotted to the ceilings and have a 
decrepit, old-world air, and the odds and ends of furni- 
ture — all characteristic of the dwelling of a poor literary 
man of refined taste — are in keeping with the surround- 
ings. In the dining-room there are half-a-dozen chairs 
of various patterns, a sideboard or two, a corner -cup- 
board, a ^* grandfather *' clock, and a large round table. 
In the study, set out into the room at the same angle as 
the fireplace, is a writing-table. A chair stands at the 
writing-table, its back to the fire, and in the front of 
the table is a well-worn settee. On the left of the settee 

112 



THE BIG DRUM 113 

is a smaller table, on which are an assortment of pipes, 
a box of cigars and another of cigarettes, a tobacco-jar, 
an ash-tray, and a bowl of matches ; and on the left of 
the table is a capacious armchair. There is an arm- 
chair on either side of the fireplace ; and against the 
right-hand wall, on the nearer side of the bedroom door, 
is a cabinet. 

On the other side of the room, facing the bedroom door, 
there is a second settee, and behind the settee is an 
oblong table littered with books and magazines. At a 
little distance from this table stands an armchair, and 
against the wall at the back, on the left of the big 
doors, is a chair of a lighter sort. Also against the 
back wall, but on the left of the door opening from the 
vestibule, is a table with a telephone-instrument upon it, 
and running along the left-hand wall is a dwarf book- 
case, unglazed, packed with books which look as if they 
would be none the worse for being dusted and put in 
order. 

In the vestibule, against the wall on the rights there is a 
small table on which are Philip's hats, caps, and gloves ; 
and an overcoat and a man's cape are hanging on some 
pegs. 

It is late on a November afternoon. Curtains are drawn 
across the dining-room windows, and the room is lighted 
rather dimly by an electric lamp standing upon a side- 
board. A warm glow proceeds from the nearer right- 
hand corner as from a fire. The study is lighted by a 
couple of standard lamps and a library-lamp on the 
writing-table, and the vestibule by a lamp suspended 
from the ceiling. 

The big doors are open. 



114 THE BIG DRUM 

[Philip, a pipe in his mouth and wearing an old velvet 
jacket, is lying upon the settee on the right, reading a 
book by the light of the lamp on the writing-table. In 
the dining-room^ John and a waiter — the latter in his 
shirt-sleeves — are at the round table, unfolding a white 
table-cloth, 

John. 

\A cheery little man in seedy clothes — to the waiter^ 
softly^ Careful! Don't crease it. 

Philip. 

\ Raising his eyes from his book.'] What's the time, 
John? 

John. 
Quarter-to-six, sir. 

Philip. 
Have my things come from the tailor's yet ? 

John. 

[_Laying the cloth with the aid of the waiter.'] Yes, sir ; 
while you were dozing, [^Ecstatically.] They're lovely, 
sir. \_A bell rings in the vestibule.] Expect that's the 
cook, sir. \_He bustles into the vestibule from the dining- 
room. There is a short pause and then he reappears, enter- 
ing the study at the door opening from the vestibule^ followed 
by ROOPE.] It's Mr. Roope, sir ! 

Philip. 

No ! [Throwing his book aside and jumping up r] Why, 
Robbie \ 



THE BIG DRUM 115 

ROOPE. 

\^As they shake hands vigorously^] My dear fellow ! 

Philip. 
Return of the wanderer ! When did you get back ? 

RooPE. 
Last night. 

Philip. 

Take your coat off, you old ruffian. [^Putting his pipe 

down.] I am glad. 

RoOPE. 

\To John, who relieves him of his hat, overcoat, and 
nee kerchief 7] How 2lX^ you, John? 

John. 

Splendid, Mr. Roope. {Beaming.] Our new novel is 

sech a success, sir. 

Philip. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Roope. 
\To John.] So Mr. Mackworth wrote and told me. 
[Giving his gloves to John.] Congratulate you, John. 

John. 

\JDespositing the hat, coat, etc., upon the settee on the 
left.] Thank you, sir. 

Roope. 

\Crossing to the fireplace, rubbing his hands, as John 
retires to the dining-room.] Oh, my dear Phil, this dread- 
ful climate aft^r th? sunshine of the La^o Mag^fiore ! 



116 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

[ Walking about and spouting, in high spirits. "] ' ' Italia ! 
O Italia ! thou who hast the fatal gift of beauty ! ' * 

ROOPE. 

Sir Loftus and Lady Glazebrook were moving on to 
Rome, or I really believe I could have endured another 
month at their villa, bores as they are, dear kind souls ! 
[^Looking towards the dining-room, where John a7id the 
waiter are now placing a handsome centre-piece offiowers 
upon the round table.'] Hallo ! A dinner-party, Phil ? 

Philip. 
Dinner-party ? A banquet ! 

ROOPE. 

To celebrate the success of the book ? 

Philip. 

That and something more. This festival, sir, of the 
preparations for which you are a privileged spectator — 
[shouting to John] shut those doors, John 

John. 
Yessir. 

Philip. 

[Sitting in the chair on the left of the smoking-table as 
John closes the big doors.] This festival, my dear Robbie 
— [glancing over his shoulder to assure hi7nself that the 
doors are closed] this festival also celebrates my formal 
engagement to Madame de Chaumie. 

RooPE, 
[Triumphantly.] Aha| 



THE BIG DRUM IVi 

Philip. 

[Taking a cigarette from the box at his side."] Ottoline 
and I are to be married soon after Christmas. The 
civilized world is to be startled by the announcement on 
Monday. 

ROOPE. 

[Advancing."] My dear chap, I've never heard any- 
thing that has given me greater pleasure. [Philip q^ers 
RooPE the cigarette-box.] No, I won't smoke. [Seating 
himself upon the settee on the right.] When was it 
settled ? 

Philip. 

[Lighting his cigarette^ The day before yesterday. I 
got Titterton to write me a letter — Titterton, my publisher 
— certifying to the enormous sales of the book, and sent 
it on to Sir Randle Filson. Nothing Uke documentary 
evidence, Robbie. [Leaning back in his chair with out- 
stretched legs a?td exhaling a wreath of tobacco-smoke.] 
Twenty-five thousand copies, my boy, up to date, and 
still going strong. 



ROOPE. 



Wonderful. 



Philip. 
Phew ! The critics treated me generously enough, but 
it hung fire damnably at first. At one particularly heUish 
moment I could have sworn it wouldn't do more than my 
usual fifteen or eighteen hundred, and I cursed myself for 
having been such a besotted fool as to pin my faith to it. 
[Sitting upright.] And then, suddenly, a rush — a tre- 
mendous rush ! Twenty-four thousand went off in less 
than six weeks. Almost uncanny, eh ? [louching the 
tobacco-jar.] Oh, lord, sometimes I think I've been put- 
ting opium into my pipe instead of this innocent baccy. 



lid THE BIG DRUM 

and that I shall wake up to the necessity of counting my 
pence again and apologizing to John for being in arrear 
with his wages ! 

ROOPE. 

And Titterton's letter brought the Filsons round? 

Philip. 

l_Nodiim£:'] Brought 'em round ; and I must say 
they've accomplished the change of attitude most 
graciously. 

ROOPE. 

[Oracular/y.'] Graciously or grudgingly, they couldn't 
help themselves, dear excellent friend. As you had 
pledged yourself in effect to resign the lady if your book 
was a failure, it follows that they were bound to clasp 
you to their bosoms if it succeeded. I don't want to 
detract from the amiabihty of the Filsons for an in- 
stant 

Philip. 

Anyhow, their opposition is at an end, and all is rosy. 
\_Rising and facing the room.~\ Master Bertram is a trifle 

glum and stand-offish perhaps, but Sir Randle ! Ha, 

ha, ha ! Sir Randle has taken Literature under his wing, 
Robbie, from Chaucer to Kipling, in the person of his 
prospective son-in-law. You'd imagine, to listen to him, 
that to estabHsh ties of relationship with a Hterary man 
has been his chief aim in life. 

RooPE. 

\jferking his head in the direction of the dining-room. '\ 
And this is to be a family gathering ? 

Philip. 
The first in the altered circumstances. I proposed a 
feast at a smart restaurant, but Sir Randle preferred the 



THE BIG DBVM 119 

atmosphere which has conduced, as he puts it, to the 
creation of so many of my brilliant compositions. [Be- 
hind the stnoking-table, dropping the end of his cigarette 
into the ash-tray — gaily ^ Robbie, I've had a magnificent 
suit of joy-rags made for the occasion ! 

ROOPE. 

\Earnestly.'\ Good ! I rejoice to hear it, dear excel- 
lent friend, and I hope it portends a wholesale order 
to your tailor and your intention to show yourself in 
society again freely. \_With a laugh, Philip goes to the 
fireplace and stands looking into the fire^ Begin leaving 
your cards at once. No more sulking in your tent ! 
\Rising and crossing to the other side of the room.'] You 
have arrived, my dear chap; I read your name in two 
papers in my cabin yesterday. [Marching up and down.] 
Your foot is on the ladder ; you bid fair to become a 
celebrity, if you are not one already ; and your ap- 
proaching marriage sheds additional lustre on you. I 
envy you, Phil ; I do, positively. 

Philip. 
[Facing Roope.] Oh, of course, I shall be seen 
about with Ottoline during our engagement. After- 
wards 

Roope. 
[Halting.] Afterwards ? 

Philip. 

Everything will depend on my wife — [relishing the 
word] my wife. Ottohne has rather lost her taste for 
Society with a capital S, remember. 

Roope. 

[Testily.] That was her mood last June, when she was 
hypped and discontented. With a husband she can be 
proud of, surely ! 



125 THE BIO DRUM 

Philip. 

{^Coming forward.'] As a matter of fact, Robbie, I'm 
inclined to agree with you ; I've been staring into my 
fire, or out of my windows here, a jolly sight too much. 
\_Expanding his chest.'\ It'll be refreshing to me to rub 
shoulders with people again for a bit — \smiling'\ even 
to find myself the object of a httle interest and curiosity. 

ROOPE. 

\Delighted.'\ Dear excellent friend ! 

Philip. 

Ha, ha ! You see, I'm not without my share of 
petty vanity. I'm consistent, though. Didn't I tell 
you in South Audley Street that I was as eager for 
fame as any man living, if only I could win it in my 
own way? 

ROOPE. 

You did. 

Philip. 

\Exultingly.'\ Well, I have won it in my own way, 
haven't I! {Hitting the palm of his hand with hisfst.\ 
I've done what I determined to do, Robbie ; what I 
knew I should do, sooner or later! I've got there — got 
there ! — by simple, honest means ! Isn't it glorious ? 

RooPE. 
{Cautiously.] I admit 

Philip. 

{Breaking in.] Oh, I don't pretend that there haven't 
been moments in my years of stress and struggle when 
I've been tempted to join the gaudy, cackUng fowl 
whose feathers I flatter myself I've plucked pretty 
thoroughly in my book ! But I've resisted the devil 



THE BIG DRUM 121 

by prayers and fasting ; and, by George, sir, I wouldn't 
swap my modest victory for the vogue of the biggest 
boomster in England ! \_B0i5ier0usly.'] Ha, ha, ha ! 
Whoop ! \Seizing Roope and shaking him.'\ Dare to 
preach your gospel to me now, you arch-apostle of 
quackery and self-advertisement ! 

Roope. 
\Peevishly, releasing himself. "l Upon my word, 
Phil ! [ The bell rings again. 

Philip. 

The cook! \To Roope, seeing that he is putting on his 
muffler.'] Don't go. 

Roope. 

I must, \7aking up his over coat. ^ I merely ran along 
to shake hands with you, and I m sorry I took the 
trouble. [Philip helps him into his overcoat laughingly.] 
Thanks. 

Philip. 
\_Suddenly .] Robbie ! 

Roope. 
\Struggling with an obstinate sleeve^ Hey ? 

Philip. 
It's just struck me. Where 2xt you dining to-night ? 

Roope. 
At the Garrick, with Hughie Champion. [^Picking up 
his hat and gloves.] He's getting horribly deaf and tedi- 
ous ; but I had nothing better. 

Philip. 

Bother Colonel Champion ! I wish you could have 
dined with me. 



122 TEE BIG DRUM 

ROOPE. 

[His hat on his head, drawing on his gloves.'\ Dear 
t^Q.€\\&Vi\. friend ! I should be out of place. 

Philip. 

Rubbish ! Your presence would be peculiarly ap- 
propriate, my dear Robbie. Wasn't it you who brought 
Ottoline and me together, God bless yer! [Observing 
that RoOPE is weakening. '\ There's heaps of room for an 
extra chair. Everybody 'ud be delighted. 

RooPE. 
[Meditatively^ I could telephone to Hughie excusing 
myself. He didn't ask me till this afternoon. [With an 
injured air.'\ I resent a short notice. 

Philip. 

[His eyes twinkling.~\ Quite right. Mine's short 
too 

ROOPE. 

That's different. 

Philip. 
Entirely. You'll come? 

ROOPE. 

If you're certain the Filsons and Madame de Chau- 
mi6 

Philip. 

Certain. [Following Roope to the door admitting to 
the vestibule.'] Eight o'clock. 

Roope. 
[Opening the door.] Charming. 



THE BIO DRUM 123 

Philip. 
Won't you let John fetch you a taxi ? 

ROOPE. 

[Shaking hands with Philip.] No, I'll walk into Hol- 
born. [In the doorway.'] Oh, by-the-by, I've a message 
for you, Phil. 

Philip. 
From whom ? 

RooPE. 
Barradell, of all people in tlie world. 

Philip. 
[Surprised.] Sir Timothy ? 

ROOPE. 

He's home. I crossed with him yesterday, and we 
travelled in the same carriage from Dover. 

Philip. 
What's the message? 

ROOPE. 

He saw your book in my bag, and began talking about 
you. He said he hadn't met you for years, but that I 
was to give you his warm regards. 

Philip. 
Indeed ? 

ROOPE. 

[Asiufeiy.] My impression is that he's heard rumors 
concerning you and Madame de Chaumi^ while he's been 
away, and that he's anxious to show he has no ill-will. 
I suppose your calling so often in Ennismore Gardens 
has been remarked. 



124 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

Extremely civil of him, if that's the case. \_Loftily.'\ 
Decent sort of fellow, I recollect. 

ROOPE. 

\_Going into the vestibule.'] Very ; very. 

Philip. 
Poor chap ! 

RooPE. 

{^Opening the outer door.'] Eight o'clock, dear excellent 
friend. 

Philip. 
[At his elbow,] Sharp. 

RooPE. 
[Disappearing.] Au revoir! 

Philip. 

Au revoir / [Calling after Roope.] Mind that corner ! 
'Closing the outer door zvith a bang and shouting^ John ! 
'Coming back into the study.] John! [Closing the vesti- 
bule door.] John ! [Going to the big doors and opening the 

one on the left a little way.] John ! 

[Ottoline, richly dressed in furs, steps through 
the opening and confronts him. Her cheeks are 
flushed and her manner has lost some of its 
repose. 

Ottoline. 

[Shutting the door behind her as she enters— playfully.] 
Qu est-ce que vous desirez John? 

Philip. 
[Catching her in his arms.] My dear girl ! 



THE BIG DRUM 125 

Ottoline. 

Ha, ha! I'm not going to stop a minute. [^Rapidiy^l 
I've been to tea with Kitty Millington ; and as I was get- 
ting into my car, I suddenly thought ! \_He kisses 

her.'\ I waited in there to avoid Robbie Roope." 

Philip. 

Robbie came back yesterday. I hope I haven't done 
wrong ; I've asked him to dine here to-night. 

Ottoline. 

Wrong! Dear old Robbie! But I didn't want him 
just now. [Loosening her wrap and hunting for a pocket in 
it.'\ I've brought you a little gift, Phil — en souvenir de 
cette soiree 

Philip. 

[Reprovingly.^ Oh ! 

Ottoline. 

I got it at Cartier's this afternoon. I meant to slip it 
into your serviette to-night quietly, but it's burning a hole 
in my pocket. [She produces a small jewel-case and pre- 
sents it to him^ Will you wear that in your tie some- 
times ? 

Philip. 

[Opening the case and gazing at its contents. '\ Phiou ! 
[She leaves him, walking away to the fireplace.'\ What a 
gorgeous pearl! [He follows her and they stand side by 
side, he holding the case at arm' s-length admiringly, his 
other arm round her waist.'] You shouldn't, Otto. You're 
incorrigible. 

Ottoline. 

[Leaning her head against his shoulder — softly.] 
J>hil 



126 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

\Still gazing at the scarf-pin.'\ To-morrow I'll buy the 
most beautiful silk scarf ever weaved. 

Ottoline. 

Phil, I've a feeling that it's from to-night, when I sit at 
your table — how sweet your flowers are ; I couldn't help 
noticing them ! — I've a feehng that it's from to-night that 
we really belong to each other. 

Philip. 
[^Pressing her closer to him.'] Ah ! 

Ottoline. 

[ With a shiver, closing her eyes.] What has gone be- 
fore has been hateful — hateful ! 

Philip. 
\Looking down upon her fondly. \ Hateful ? 

Ottoline. 

Until — until your book commenced to sell, at any rate. 
Suspense — a horrid sensation of uneasiness, mistrust — the 
fear that, through your foohsh, hasty promise to mother 
and Dad, you might, after all, unite with them to cheat 
me out of my happiness ! That's what it has been to me, 
Philip. 

Philip. 
{Rallying her, but a little guiltily. 1 Ha, ha, ha ! You 
goose ! I knew exactly how events would shape. Otto ; 
hadn't a doubt on the subject. {Shutting the jewel-case 
with a snap and a flourish.'] I knew 

Ottoline, 

{Releasing herself.] Ah, yes, I dare say I've been 
dreadfully stupid. {Shaking herself, as if to rid herself of 



THE BIG DRUM 127 

unpleasant memories, and again leaving kirn."] Well ! 
Sans adieu ! \Fasteni71g her wrap.'] Get your hat and 
take me down-stairs. 

Philip. 

Wait a moment! \_Chuckling.~\ Ho, ho ! I'm not to 
be outdone altogether. \Pocketing her gift, he goes to the 
cabinet on the right and unlocks it. She watches him 
from the middle of the room. Presently he comes to her, 
carrying a little ring-case."] Take off your glove — [^point- 
ing to her left hand] that one. \She removes her glove 
tremulously. He takes a ring from the case, tosses the 
case on to the writing-table, and slips the ring on her third 
finger.] By George, I'm in luck ; blessed if it doesn't 
fit! 

\She surveys the ring in silence for a while ; then 
she puts her arms round his neck and hides her 
face on his breast. 

Ottoline. 
\Almost inaudibly.] Oh, Phil ! 

Philip. 

{Tenderly.] And so this is the end of the journey, 
Otto! 

Ottoline. 
\In a whisper.] The end ? 

Philip. 
The dreary journey in opposite directions you and I 
set out upon nearly eleven years ago in Paris. 

Ottoline. 

[ Quivering. ] Ah ! 

Philip. 
My dear, what does it matter as long as our roads meet 
at last, and meet where there are clear pools to bathe our 



128 THE BIG DRUM 

vagabond feet and sunshine to heal our sore bodies! 
\_She raises her head and nimmages for her handkerchief^ 
Otto ! 

Ottoline. 
Yes? 

Philip. 
In April — eh ? 

Ottoline. 
{^Drying her eyes."] April ? 

Philip. 

You haven't forgotten tiie compact we entered into at 
Robbie Roope's? 

Ottoline. 
[Brightening.'] Ah, no ! 

Philip. 

In April we walk under the chestnut-trees once more in 
the Champs-Ely sees I 



Ottoline. 

[^Smiling through her tears.] And the AUee de Long- 
champ ! 

Philip. 

As husband and wife — we shall be an old married 
couple by then ! 

Ottoline. 

\Pulling on her glove.] And drink milk at the 
d'Armenonville ! 

Philip. 
And the Pr^-Catelan | 



THE BIO DRUM 129 

Ottoline. 
And we'll make pilgrimages, Phil ! 

Philip. 

Yes, we'll gaze up at the windows of my gloomy lodg- 
ings in the Rue Soufflot — what was the number ? — — 

Ottoline. 
[^Contracting her drows.'] Quarante-trois bis. 

Philip. 

[BanteringiyJ] Where you honored me with a visit, 
madame, with your maid Nannette — — 

Ottoline. 

[Warding off the recollection with a gesture.'\ Oh, 

don't ! 

Philip. 
Ha, ha, ha ! A shame of me ! 



Ottoline. 
[Turning from him.'\ Do get your hat and coat. 

Philip. 
[Going into the vestibule, '\ Where's your car ? 

Ottoline. 
[Mcnjing towards the vestibule. '\ In South Square. 

Philip. 

[Returning to her, a cape over his shoulders, a soft hat 
on his head. \ Eight o'clock! 

Ottoline. 
Eight o'clock. 

[He takes her hands and they stand looking into 
each other^s eyes. 



130 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 
[After a pause.\ Fancy ! 

Ottoline. 

[Faintlyr^ Fancy ! \_He is drawing her to him slowly 
when, uttering a low cry, she embraces him wildly and 
passionately 7\ Oh ! [Clinging to him.'] Oh, Phil ! Oh — 
oh — oh ! 

Philip. 

[Responding to her embrace.'] Otto — Otto ! 

Ottoline. 

[Breaking from him.] Oh ! 

[She hurries to the outer door. He follows her 
quickly, closing the vestibule door after him. 
Then the outer door is heard to shut, and the 
curtain falls. After a short interval, the cur- 
tain rises again, showing all the doors closed 
and the study in darkness save for the light of 
the fire. The bell rings, and again there is an 
interval ; and then the vestibule door is opened 
by John — attired for rvaiting at table — and 
Bertram brushes past hi?n and enters. Ber- 
tram is in evening dress. 

Bertram. 

[As he enters, brusquely.] Yes, I know I'm a little too 
soon. I want to speak to Mr, Mackworth — before the 

others come, I mean t'say 

[John switches on the light of a lamp by the vesti- 
bule door. It is now seen that Bertram is 
greatly flustered and excited. 

John. 

[Taking Bertram's hat, overcoat, etc.] I'll tell Mr. 
Mackworth, sir. He's dressin'. 



THE BIG DUUM 131 

[John, eyeing Bertram wonderingly, goes to the 
door of the bedroom. There, having switched 
on the light of another lamp, he knocks. 

Philip. 
\JFrom the bedroomJ\ Yes ? 

John. 
[Opening the door a few inches.'] Mr. Filson, sir. 

Philip. 
[Calling out.] Hallo, Bertram ! 

John. 
Mr. Filson wants to speak to you, sir. 

Philip. 
I'll be with him in ten seconds. Leave the door open. 

John. 

Yessir. 

[John withdraws, carrying Bertram's outdoor 
things into the vestibule and shutting the vesti- 
bule door. 

Philip. 

[Calling to Bertram again.] I'm in the throes of tying 
a bow, old man. Sit down. [Bertram, glaring at the 
bedroom door, remains standing.] O'ho, that's fine ! Ha, 
ha, ha ! I warn you, I'm an overpowering swell to-night. 
A new suit of clothes, Bertram, devised and executed in 
less than thirty-six hours ! And a fit, sir ; every item of 
it ! You'll be green with envy when you see this coat. 

I'm ready for you. Handkerchief ? [Shouting.] 

John ! Oh, here it is! [Switching off the light in 

the bedroom and appearing, immaculately dressed, in the 



13S THE BIO DRUM 

doorway, ~\ Behold! [^Closing the door and advancing to 
Bertram.] How are you, Bertram ? [Bertram refuses 
Philip' s ha7id by putting his own behind his back. Philip 
raises his eyebrows.^ Oh ? \A pause.'\ Anything amiss ? 
\Observing Bertram's heated look.~\ You don't look 
well, Filson. 

Bertram. 

[^Breathing heavily.'] No, I'm not well — I mean t'say, 
I'm sick with indignation 

Philip. 
What about ? 

Bertram. 

You've attempted to play us all a rascally trick, Mack- 
worth ; a low, scurvy, contemptible 

Philip. 
[Frowning.'] A trick ? 

Bertram. 

I've just come from Mr. Dunning — a man I've thought 
it my duty to employ in the interests of my family — Silh- 
toe and Dunning, the private-inquiry people 

Philip. 
Private-inquiry people ? 

Bertram. 

Dunning rang me up an hour ago, and I went down 
to him. The discovery wasn't chnched till this after- 
noon 

Philip. 
The discovery ? 



THE BIG DRUM 133 

Bertram. 

\Derisively.'\ Ho ! This precious book of yours — 
"The Big Drum"! A grand success, Mackworth ! 

Philip. 
{^Perplexed.'] I don't 

Bertram. 

" The Big Drum " ! Wouldn't " The Big Fraud " be 
a more suitable title, I mean t'say ? 

Philip. 
Fraud ? 

Bertram. 

Reached its twenty-fifth thousand, and the demand 
still continues ! You and Mr. what's-his-name — Titter- 
ton — ought to be publicly exposed, Mackworth ; and if 
we were in the least spiteful and vindictive 

Philip. 
[Tightening his lips.'] Are you sober, Filson ? 

Bertram. 
Now, don't you be insolent, because it won't answer. 
[Philip winces, but restrains himself.'] The question is, 
what are we to do to-night— {or Ottoline's sake, I mean 
t'say. We must spare her as much shock and distress 
as possible. I assume you've sufficient decency left to 
agree with me there. My father and mother too — 
they're quite ignorant of the steps I've been taking 

Philip. 

{Controlling himself with difficulty.] My good fellow, 
will you condescend to explain ? 



134 THE BIG DRUM 

Bertram. 

\_Walking away.'] Oh, it's no use, Mackworth — this 
air of innocence ! \Puffing himself out and strutting to 
and fro on the left.] It's simply wasted effort, I mean 
t'say. In five minutes I can have Dunning here with 
the whole disreputable story. He's close by — bottom 
of Chancery Lane. He'll be at his office till half-past- 
eleven 

Philip. 

\^Between his teeth — thrusting his hands into his trousef' 
pockets.] Very accommodating of him ! 

Bertram. 

I tried to get on to my father from Dunning' s — to ask 
his advice, I mean t'say — but he'd dressed early and 
gone to one of his clubs, and they couldn't tell me 
which one. \_Halting and looking at his watch.] My 
suggestion is that you and I should struggle through 
this farce of a dinner as best we can — as if nothing 
had happened, I mean t'say — and that I should re- 
serve the disclosure of your caddish conduct till to- 
morrow. You assent to that course, Mackworth ? 
[Dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief] Thank 
heaven, the announcement of the engagement hasn't 
appeared ! 

Philip. 

\In a calm voice.] Bertram — [Pointing to the chair 
on the left of the S7no king-table] Bertie, old man — 
[seating himself easily upon the settee on the right] 
you're your sister's brother and I'm not going to lose 
my temper 

Bertram. 
[Sneeringly.] My dear sir 



THE BIG DRUM 136 

Philip. 

\Leaning back and crossing his legs^^ One thing I 
seem to grasp clearly ; and that is that, while I've been 
endeavoring to concihate you, and make a pal of you, 
you've been leaguing yourself with a tame detective with 
the idea of injuring me in some way with Ottoline and 
your father and mother. \Folding his arms.~\ That's 
correct, isn't it ? 

Bertram. 

[ With a disdainful shrug.'] If you think it will benefit 
you to distort my motives, Mackworth, pray do so. 
\_Returning to the middle of the room.~\ What I've done, 
I've done, as I've already stated, from a sheer sense 
of duty 

Philip. 
\Again pointing to the chair.] Please ! You'll look less 
formidable, old man 

Bertram. 

[Sitting, haughtily.] Knowing what depended on the 
fate of your book, I felt from the first that you might be 
unscrupulous enough to induce your pubhsher to repre- 
sent it as being a popular success — in order to impose on 
us, I mean t'say — though actually it was another of your 
failures to hit the mark ; and when Titterton started 
blowing the trumpet so loudly, my suspicions increased. 
[Philip slowly unfolds his arms.] As for desiring to in- 
jure you with my family at any price, I scorn the charge. 
I've had the delicacy to refrain from even mentioning 
my suspicions to my father and mother, let alone Otto- 
line. [Puffin'^ his necktie straight and smoothing his hair 
and his slightly crumpled shirt-front.] Deeply as I regret 
your connection with my sister, I should have been only 
too happy, I mean t'say, if my poor opinion of you had 
been falsified. 



136 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

\^His hands clenched, but preserving his suavity. '\ Ex- 
tremely grateful to you, Bertie. I see ! And so, bur- 
dened by these suspicions, you carried them to Mr. — Mr. 
Gunning? 

Bertram. 

Dunning. I didn't regard it as a job for a respectable 
soUcitor 

Philip. 

{Politely?^ Didnt you ! 

Bertram. 
Not that there's anything against Dunning 

Philip. 

{Uncrossing his legs and sitting upright. '\ Well, that 
brings us to the point, doesn't it? 

Bertram. 
The point ? 

Philip. 

The precise, and illuminating, details of the fable your 
friend at the bottom of Chancery Lane is fooling you 
with. 

Bertram. 
[/« a pitying tone.'] Oh, my dear Mack worth ! I re- 
peat, it's no use your adopting this attitude. You don't 
reahze how completely you're bowled over, I mean t'say. 
Dunning' s got incontestable proofs — — 

Philip. 

{^Jumping up, unable to repress himself any longer^ 
Damn the impudent scoundrel ! [ The bell rings. 



THE BIG DRUM 137 

Bertram. 
[Listening.'] Your bell ! 

Philip. 

[Striding to the left and then to the fireplace.] You said 
he's still at his office, didn't you? 

Bertram. 
[Rising.] Yes. 

Philip. 

[Pointing to the telephone , imperatively.] Get him here 
at once. 

Bertram. 
[Rather taken aback.] At once ? 

Philip. 
I'll deal with this gentleman promptly. 

Bertram. 
[Icily.] Not before Ottoline and my parents, I hope f 

Philip. 

[Seizing the poker and attacking the fire furiously.] Be- 
fore Ottoline and your parents. 

Bertram. 
A most painful scene for them, I mean t'say 

Philip. 
A painful scene for you and Mr. Dunning. 

Bertram. 

After dinner — when they've gone — you and I'll go 
(iown to Dunning 



138 THE BIO DRUM 

Philip. 

\_FHnging the poker into the grate and facing BERTRAM.] 
Confound you, you don't suppose I'm going to act on 
your suggestion, and grin through a long meal with this 
between us ! [^Pointing to the telephone again.'] Ring him 
up, you treacherous httle whelp — quick ! [^Advancing.'] 
\i you won't ! 

Bertram. 

\_BristHng.'\ Oh, very good ! {^Pausing on his way to 
the telephone and addressing Philip with an evil expres- 
sion.] You were always a bully and a blusterer, Mack- 
worth ; but, take my word for it, if you fancy you can 
bully Mr. Dunning, and bluster to my family, with any 
satisfactory results to yourself, you're vastly mistaken. 

Philip. 
{Gruffly.] I beg your pardon ; sorry I exploded. 

Bertram. 

{Scowling.] It's of no consequence. \At the telephone, 
his ear to the receiver.] I am absolutely indifferent to 
your vulgar abuse, I mean t'say. 

[John announces ^oov^. Note: "Roof's, and the 
rest of the guests divest themselves of their over- 
coats, wraps, etc. , in the vestibule before enter- 
ing the room. 



Mr. Roope. 



John. 



Roope. 

{Greeting Philip as John withdraws.] Am I the 
first f 

Philip. 
[Glancing at Bertram.] No. 



THE BIG DRUM 139 

Bertram. 

[^speaking into the telephone."] Holborn, three eight 
nine eight. 

ROOPE. 

[ Waving his hand to Bertram.] Ah ! How are you, 
my dear Mr. Filson ? 

Bertram. 
[77? RooPE, sulkily.] How'r you? Excuse me 



ROOPE. 

[7^ Philip.] My dear Phil, these excursions to the 
east are delightful ; they are positively. The sights fill 
me with amazement. I 

Philip. 

[Cutting him short by leading him to the fireplace.] 
Robbie 

RooPE. 
Hey ? 

Philip. 
[Grimly, dropping his voice.] Are you hungry? 

ROOPE. 

Dear excellent friend, since you put the question so 
plainly, I don't mind avowing that I am — devilish hungry. 
Why ? 

Philip. 
There may be a slight delay, old chap. 

ROOPE. 

Delay ? 



140 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

Yes, the east hasn't exhausted its marvels yet, by a 
long chalk. 

ROOPE. 

[^Looking at him curiously.~\ Nothing the matter, Phil ? 

Bertram. 

\Suddenly, into the telephone. '\ That you, Dun- 
ning ? 

Philip. 

[ To RooPE.] Robbie 

\_Tuming to the fire, Philip talks rapidly and 
energetically to Roope i7i undertones. 

Bertram. 

\_Into the telephone.'] Filson. . . . Mr. Filson. . . . 
I'm speaking from Gray's Inn. . . . Gray's Inn — Mr. 
Mackworth's chambers — 2, Friars Court. . . . You're 
wanted, Dunning. . . . Now — immediately. . . . Yes, 
jump into a taxicab and come up, will you ? . . . 

Roope. 

[To Philip, aloud, opening his eyes widely.'] My dear 
Phil ! 

Philip. 
\_lVith a big laugh.] Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Bertram. 

[77? Philip, angrily.] Quiet ! I can't hear. [^Intothe 
telephone.] I can't hear ; there's such a beastly noise 
going on — what? . . . Dash it, you can get something to 
eat at any time ! I mean to say — ! . . . Eh ? . . . [^Ir- 
ritably.] Oh, of course you may have a wash and brush 



THE BIO DRUM 141 

up ! . . . Yes, he is. . . . You're coming, then? . . , 
Right ! Goo' bye. 

ROOPE. 

[7b Philip, who has resumed his communication to 

RooPE — incredulously. '\ Dear excellent friend ! 

\The door-bell rings again. 

Philip. 

Ah — — ! \Pausing on his way to the vestibule door — to 
Bertram.] Mr. Dunning will favor us with his distin- 
guished company ? 

Bertram. 

{Behind the table on the left, loweringly .'\ In a few min- 
utes. He's washing. 

Philip. 

Washing? Some of his customer's dirty linen? [As 
he opens the vestibule door, John admits Sir Randle Fil- 
SON at the outer door.'\ Ah, Sir Randle ! 

Sir Randle. 
[Heartily, '] Well, Philip, my boy ! [ While John is 
taking his hat, overcoat^ etc.'] Are my dear wife and 
daughter here yet ? 

Philip. 
Not yet. 

Sir Randle. 

I looked in at Brooks's on my way to you. I hadn't 
been there for months. [7b John.] My muffler in the 
right-hand pocket. Thank you. [Entering and shaking 
hands with Philip.] Ha ! They gave me quite a warm 
welcome. Very gratifying. [Roope advances.] Mr. 
Roope ! [Shaking hands with Roope as Philip shuts 
the vestibule door.] An unexpected pleasure ! 



142 TEE BIG DRUM 

ROOPE. 

\^Uneasiiy.] Er — I am rather an interloper, I'm afraid, 
my dear Sir Randle 

Sir Randle. 

{Retaining his hand.'] No. [Emphatically.'] No. This 
is one of Philip's many happy inspirations. If my 
memory is accurate, it was at your charming flat in 
South Audley Street that he and my darling child — — 
{Discovering Bertram, who is now by the settee on the 
left.] Bertie ! {Going to him.] I haven't seen you all 
day , Bertie dear. {Kissing him on the forehead^ Busy, 
eh? 

Bertram. 
{Stiffly.] Yes, father. 

Philip. 

{At the chair on the left of the smoking-table, dryly.] 
Bertram has been teUing me how busy he has been, Sir 
Randle 

Sir Randle. 

{Not perceiving the general air of restraint^] That re- 
minds me — {moving, full of importance, to the settee on the 
right— feeling in his breast-pocket] the announcement of 
the engagement, Philip — {seating himself and producing 
a pocketbook] Lady Filson and I drew it up this morn- 
ing. {Hunting among some letters and papers.] I believe 
it is in the conventional form ; but we so thoroughly 
sympathize with you and Ottoline in your dislike for any- 
thing that savors of pomp and flourish that we hesitate, 
without your sanction, to — {selecting a paper and hatiding 
it to Philip] ah! {To Roope, who has returned to the 
fireplace — over his shoulder.] I am treating you as one of 
ourselves, Mr. Roope 



THE BIG DRUM 143 

ROOPE. 

[/« a murmur.'] Dear excellent friend ! 

Sir Randle. 
\_To Philip.] We propose to insert it only in the three 
or four principal journals 

Philip. 
[^Frowning at the paper,] Sir Randle -™™ 

Sir Randle. 
^Blandly.] Eh? 

Philip. 
Haven't you given me the wrong paper ? 

Sir Randle. 

\With a look of alarm, hurriedly putting on his pince- 
nez and searching in his pocketbook again.] The 
wrong — — ? 

Philip. 

This has " Universal News Agency " written in the 
corner of it. 

Sir Randle. 
[Holding out his hand for the paper, faintly.] Oh f 

Philip. 

\_Ignoring Sir Randle's hand — reading.] " The extra- 
ordinary stir, which we venture to prophesy will not soon 
be eclipsed, made by Mr. Philip Mackworth's recent 
novel, ' The Big Drum,' lends additional interest to the 
announcement of his forthcoming marriage to the beauti- 
ful Madame de Chaumid — ' ' [ The bell rings. He listens to 
it, and then goes 07i reading.] •• — the beautiful Madame 
de Chaumie, daughter of the widely and deservedly 



144 THE BIG DRUM 

popular — the widely and deservedly popular Sir Randle 

and Lady Filson " 

[^Afier reading it to the end silently, he restores the 
paper to Sir Randle with a smile and a 
slight bow. 

Sir Randle. 

\Collecting hvnself?^ Er — Lady Filson and I thought it 
might be prudent, Philip, to — er — to give a lead to the 
inevitable comments of the press. \_Repiacmg the paper in 
his pocketbook.~\ If you object, my dear boy 

Philip. 

\Wtth a motion of the head towards the vestibule door.'\ 
That must be Lady Filson and Ottoline. 

\^He goes to the door and opens it. Lady Filson 
and Ottoline are in the vestibule and John is 
taking luAin Filson' s wrap from her. 

Lady Filson. 

\Briinming over with good humor,'] Ah, Philip ! Don't 
say we're late ! 

Philip. 
[^Lightly.'] I won't. 

Lady Filson. 

[Entering and shaking hands with him."] Your stair- 
case is so dark, it takes an age to climb it. [To Roope, 
who comes forward, shaking hands with him.'] How nice ! 
Ottoline told me, coming along, that we were to meet 
you. 

Roope. 
[Bending over her hand.] Dear lady ! 



THE BIG DRUM 145 

Lady Filson. 

\Coining to Sir Randle.] There you are, Randle ! 
[Nodding to Bertram, who is sitting aloof in the chair on 
the extreme left.'] Bertie darling ! [Sir Randle risesJ] 
Aren't these rooms quaint and cozy, Randle? 

Sir Randle. 
[Still somewhat disconcerted.] For a solitary man, 
ideal. [Solemnly.] If ever I had the misfortune to be left 
alone in the world 

Lady Filson. 

[Sitting on the settee on the right.] Ho, my dear! 

[Philip has joined Ottoline in the vestibule. 
He now follows her into the room, shutting the 
vesiibide door. She is elegantly dressed in 
white and, though she has recovered her usual 
stateliness and composure, is a picture of radiant 
happiness. 

Ottoline. 

[Giving her hand to Roope, who raises it to his lips — • 
sweetly^ I am glad you are home, Robbie, and that you 
are here to-night. [ To Lady Filson and Sir Randle.] 
Mother — Dad — [espying Bertram] oh, and there's Ber- 
tram — don't be scandalized, any of you! [To Roope, 
resting her hands on his shoulders.] Une fois de plus, mon 
atnty pour vous temoigner ma gratitude ! 

[She kisses him. Lady Filson laughs indul- 
gently, and Sir Randle, wagging his head, 
moves to the fireplace. 

Roope. 

Ha, ha, ha ! 

Ottoline. 
Ha, ha, ha! [Going to the fireplace.] Ah, what a 
lovely fire ! [To Sir Randle, as Roope seats himself in 



146 THE BIG DRU3I 

the chair by the smo king-table and prepares to make him- 
self agreeable to Lady Filson.] Share it with me, Dad, 
and let me warm my toes before dinner. I'm frozen ! 

Philip. 

\Coming to the middle of the 7'ooni.'\ My dear Ottoline — 
Lady Filson — Sir Randle — I fear we shall all have time 
to warm our toes before dinner. [Roope, who is about 
to address a remark to Lady Filson, ^z//5 his hand to his 
mouth, and Sir Randle and Lady Filson look at Philip 
inquiringly^ You mustn't blame me wholly for the hitch 
in my poor entertainment 

Lady Filson. 

\Amiably.\ The kitchen! I guess your difficulties, 
Phihp 

Philip. 
No, nor my kitchen either 



Ottoline. 

\Turning the chair on the nearer side of the fireplace 
so that it faces the fire.~\ The cook wasn't punctual ! 
{^Installing herself in the chair."] Ah, la, la I Ces 
cuisinieres causent la moitie des ennuis sur cette terre ! 

Philip. 

Oh, yes, the cook was punctual. \^His manner hardening 
a little.] The truth is, we are waiting for a Mr. Dunning. 

Lady Filson. 
Mr. ? 

Sir Randle, 

Mr. ? 



THE BIG DRUM 147 

Ottoline. 

[From her chair, where she is almost completely hidden 
froin the others — comfortably .'\ Good gracious ! Who's 
Mr. Dunning, Philip? 

[John and the waiter open the big doors. The 
dining-table, round which the chairs are now 
arranged t is prettily lighted by shaded candles, 

Philip. 
ITo ]OKii, sharply.'] John 

John. 

Yessir ? 

Philip. 

Tell the cook to keep the dinner back for a Uttle while. 
Do you hear? 

John. 
lAstonished.] Keep dinner back, sir ? 

Philip. 

Yes. And when Mr. Dunning calls — Idistinctly] 
Dunning 

Yessir. 



John. 



Philip. 
I'll see him. Show him in. 

John. 
Yessir. 

Philip. 
You may serve dinner as soon as he's gone. I'll ring. 
yoHN and the waiter withdraw into the kitchen^ 



148 THE BIG DRUM 

whereupon Philip, after watching their depar- 
iuret deliberately closes the big doors. Rocpe» 
who has been picking at his nails nervously ^ 
rises and steals away to the left, and Sir 
Randle, advancing a step or two, exchanges 
questioning glances with Lady Filson. 

Ottoline. 

[^Laughingly.'] What a terrible shock ! I was fright- 
ened that PhiHp had sprung a strange guest upon us. 
[As Philip is shutting the doors."] Vous Hes bien mys- 
terieux, Phil? Why are we to starve until this Mr. Dun- 
ning has come and gone ? 

Philip. 
Because if I tried to eat without having first disposed 
of the reptile, Otto, I should choke. 

Lady Filson. 
[Bewildered.] Reptile ? 

Ottoline. 

Philip ! 

Philip. 

[At the chair beside the smo king-table — to Lady Filson.] 
I apologize very humbly for making you and Sir Randle, 
and dear Ottoline, parties to such unpleasant proceed- 
ings, Lady Filson ; but the necessity is forced upon me. 
[Coming forward.] Mr. Dunning is one of those crawl- 
ing creatures who conduct what are known as confidential 
inquiries. In other words, he's a private detective — an 
odd sort of person to present to you ! 

Lady Filson. 
[ Under her breath.] Great heavens ! 



THE BIG DRUM I4d 

Philip. 

And he has lightened your son's purse, presumably, 
and crammed his willing ears with some ridiculous, 
fantastic tale concerning my book — "The Big Drum." 
Mr, Dunning professes to have discovered that 1 have 
conspired with a wicked publisher to deceive you all ; 
that the book's another of my miss-hits, and that I'm a 
designing rogue and har. [To Bertram.] Come on, 
Bertram ; don't sit there as if you were a stuffed figure ! 
Speak out, and tell your father and mother what you've 
been up to ! 

Lady Filson. 
\Open-mouthed.'\ Bertie ! 

Sir Randle. 

[Moving towards Bertram, mildly. '\ Bertram, my 
boy ? 

Bertram. 

[Curling his lip — to Philip.] Oh, you seem to be get- 
ting on exceedingly well without my assistance. Mack- 
worth. I'm content to hold my tongue till Dunning 
arrives, I mean t'say. 

Philip. 

[Approaching Lady Filson.] You see. Lady Filson, 
Master Bertram is endowed with an exceptionally active 
brain ; and when I gave those assurances to you and Sir 
Randle last June, it occurred to him that, in the event 
of my book failing to attract the market, there was a dan- 
ger of my palming it off, with the kind aid of my pub- 
lisher, as the out-and-out triumph I'd bragged of in 
advance ; and the loud blasts of Titterton's trumpet 
strengthened Master Bertie's apprehensions. [Ottoline, 
unobserved, rises unsteadily and, with her eyes fixed fiercely 



150 THE BIG DRUM 

upon Bertram, crosses the room at the back."] So what 
does he do, bless him for his devotion to his belongings ! 
To safeguard his parents from being jockeyed, and as a 
brotherly precaution, he enlists the services, on the sly, 
of the obliging Mr, Dunning. We shall shortly have an 
opportunity of judging vi'hat that individual's game is. 
\_With a shrug.'] He may have stumbled legitimately into 
a mare's nest ; but I doubt it. These ruffians'll stick at 

nothing to keep an ingenuous client on the hook 

\_He is interrupted by feeling Ottoline's hand upon his 
arm. He lays his hand on hers gently.] Otto dear 

Ottoline. 

\_Clutching him lightly and articulating with an effort.] 
It — it's infamous — shameful! My — my brother! It's 
infamous ! 

Philip. 

Oh, it'll be all over in ten minutes. And then Bertie 
and I will shake hands — won't we, Bertie ? — and forget 
the wretched incident 

Ottoline. 

{^Confronting Bertram, trembling with passiofi.] How 
dare you ! How dare you meddle with my affairs — mine 
and Mr. Mackworth's! How dare you ! 

Bertram. 
[Straightening himself] Look heah, Ottoline ! 

Ottoline. 
Stand up when I speak to you ! 

[Bertram gets to his feet in a hurry. 

Lady Filson. 
[Appealingly.] Otto ! 



THE BIG DRUM 151 

Ottoline. 
\_To Bertram.] All your life you've been paltry, 



odious, detestable 
Look heah 



Bertram. 



Ottoline. 

But this I My God ! For you — for any of us — to 
impugn the honesty of a man whose shadow we're not fit 

to walk in ! 

Sir Randle. 
[To Lady Filson— /az«^^.] Winifred ! 

Ottoline. 

[To Bertram.] You — you — you're no better than 
your common, hired spy ! 

Lady Filson. 
[Rising and going to Ottoline.] My child, remem- 
ber ! 

Ottoline. 

[Clenching her hands and hissing her words at Ber- 
tram.] C est la verite ! Tu 71 es quune canaille — une 
vile canaille ./ 

Lady Filson. 
Control yourself, I beg! 

Ottoline. 

[To Lady Filson.] Leave me alone ! 

[She passes Lady Filson and sits on the settee 
on the right with glittering eyes and heaving 
bosom. Philip has withdrawn to the fireplace 
and is standing looking into the fire. 



156 THE BIG DRUM 

Lady Filson. 

[7i? Bertram.] Bertie dear, I'm surprised at you! 
To do a thing like this behind our backs ! 

Bertram. 
My dear mother, I knew that you and father wouldn't 
do it 

Lady Filson. 
I should think not, indeed ! 

Sir Randle. 
[To Bertram.] Your mother and 1 1 

Lady Filson. 
[Horrified at the notion 7\ Oh ! 

Bertram. 

Upon my word, this is rather rough ! [Walking away ^ 
I mean to say ! 

Philip. 

[Turning.'\ We mustn't be too hard on poor Bertram, 
Lady Filson 

Bertram. 
[Pacing the room near the big doors. '\ Poor Bertram ! 
Ho! 

Sir Randle. 

[To Philip.] I trust we are never unduly hard on our 
children, my dear Phihp 

Philip. 

To do him justice, he was most anxious to postpone 
these dreadful revelations till to-morrow 



tHE JSIQ t)EUM 15a 

Bektram. 
Exactly 1 {Throwing himself into the chair between the 
big doors and the vestibuie door.'] I predicted a scene ! I 
predicted a scene ! 

Philip. 

[To Sir Randle and Lady Filson, ^entieniiy.'] Per- 
haps it would have been wiser of me — more considerate 
— to have complied with his wishes. But 1 was in a fury 
— naturally 

Lady Filson. 
[Sitting on the settee on the left.'] Naturally. 

Sir Randle. 
And excusably. I myself, in similar circum- 
stances 

Philip. 

[Rubbing his head.] Why the deuce couldn't he have 
kept his twopenny thunderbolt in his pocket for a few 
hours, instead of launching it to-night and spoiling our 
sole a la Morny and our ris de veau / 

Ottoline. 

[Gradually composing herself and regaining her dig- 
nity.] P-P-Philip 

Philip. 
[Coming to the smoking-table.] Eh ? 

Ottoline. 
[Passing her handkerchief over her lips.] Need you — 
need you see this man to-night? Can't you stop him 
coming — or send him away ? 

Philip. 
Not see him ? 



164 THE BIQ DRUM 

Ottoline. 

Why — why should you stoop to see him at all ? Why 
shouldn't the matter be allowed to drop — to drop? 

Philip. 
Drop ! 

Ottoline. 
It — it's too monstrous; too absurd. [7b Bertram, 
with a laugh.'] Ha, ha, ha ! Bertie — Bertie dear — — 

Bertram. 
[Suileniy,'] Yes? 

Ottoline. 

Ha, ha! I almost scared you out of your wits, 
didn't I ? 

Bertram. 
You've behaved excessively rudely 

Lady Filson. 
Bertram — Bertram 

Bertram. 

I mean to say, mother ! What becomes of family 
loyalty ? 

Ottoline. 

[To Bertram, coaxingly.'] Forgive me, Bertram. 
I'm ashamed of my violent outburst. Forgive me 

Roope. 

{^Who has been effacing himself behind the table on the 
left, appearing at the nearer end of the table.] Er — dear 
excellent friends — [Sir Randle and Lady Filson look 
at Roope as if he had fallen from the skies, and Ber- 



THE BIO DRUM 155 

TRAM Scares at him resentfuUy\ dear excellent friends, 
if I may be permitted to make an observation 

Philip. 
\To RooPE.] Go ahead, old man. 

ROOPE. 

In my opinion, it would be a thousand pities not to 
see Mr. Dunning to-night, and have done with him. 
{Cheerfully^ The fish is ruined — we must resign our- 
selves to that ; {sitting in the chair on the extreme leff] 
but the other dishes, if the cook is fairly competent 

Sir Randle. 

[Advancing.l Mr. Roope's opinion is my opinion also. 
{Ponderously.'] As to whether Lady Filson and my 
daughter should withdraw into an adjoining room 

Lady Filson. 
/ feel with Phihp ; we couldn't sit down to dinner with 
this cloud hanging over us 

Sir Randle. 

[Sitting in the chair by the smoking-table.~\ Impossible ! 
I must be frank. Impossible ! 

RooPE. 
Dear Madame de Chaumie will pardon me for differ- 
ing with her, but you can't very well ignore even a fellow 
of this stamp — {glancing at Bertram] especially, if I 
understand aright, my excellent friend over there still per- 
sists 

Bertram. 
{Morosely. \ Yes, you do understand aright, Roope. 
I've every confidence in Dunning, I mean t'say 



156 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 
[ Turning away, angrily. '\ Oh ! 



Lady Filson. 
\Severeiy,'] Bertie ! 

Sir Randle. 

Bertram, my boy / 

\_Tke bell rings. There is a short silence, and then 
Bertram rises and pulls down his waistcoat 
portentously. 

Bertram. 
Here he is. 

Ottoline. 
{To Lady Filson, in a low voice.'\ Mother ? 

Lady Filson. 
\To Philip.] Tio you wish us to withdraw, Philip? 

Philip. 
\Sitting at the writing-table. '\ Not at all, Lady Filson. 
[Switching on the light of the library-lamp, sternly.'\ On 
the contrary, I should like you both to remain. 

Lady Filson. 
\To Ottoline.] Otto dear ? 

Ottoline. 
{Adjusting a comb in her hair.'] Oh, certainly, mother, 
I'll stay. 

Lady Filson. 
{Arranging her skirt and settling herself majestically P^ 
Of this we may be perfectly sure ; when my son finds that 
he has been misled, purposely or unintentionally, he will 
be only too ready — too ready 



THE BIG DRUM 157 

Sir Randle. 

[Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes7\ That 
goes without saying, Winifred. A gentleman — an Eng- 
lish gentleman 

Bertram. 

\Who is watching the vestibule door — over his shoulder, 
snappishly .'\ Oh, of course, father, if it turns out that I've 
been sold, I'll eat humble-pie abjectly. 

ROOPE. 

[Shaking a finger at Bertram.] Ha, ha ! I hope 
you've brought a voracious appetite with you, dear ex- 
cellent friend. 

Bertram. 

[To RooPE, ex asperated. '\ Look heah, Mr. Roope ! 

[The vestibule door opens and John announces 
Dunning. 

John. 
Mr, Dunning. 

[Dunning enters and John retires. Mr. Alfred 
Dunning is a spruce, middle-aged, shrewd- 
faced man with an affable but rather curt 
manner. He is in his hat and overcoat. 

Dunning. 

[To Bertram.] Haven't kept you long, have I? I 

just had a cup o' cocoa [He checks himself on seeing 

so large an assembly, removes his hat, and includes every- 
body in a summary bow.'] Evening. 

Bertram. 

[To Dunning.] Larger gathering than you expected. 
[Indicating the various personages by a glance.] Sir 
Randle and |-ady Filson — my father find mother -.— ^ 



158 THE BIG DRUM 

Dunning. 
\^To Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Evening. 

Bertram. 
My sister, Madame de Chaumie 

Dunning. 
[r^ Ottoline.] Evening. 

Bertram. 
Mr. Roope — Mr. Mackworth 



Dunning. 

[To them.'] Evening. 

[Sir Randle, Lady Filson, a?id Roope, look- 
ing at Dunning out of the comers of their 
eyes, acktiowledge the introductio7i by a slight 
movement. Philip nods unfieasant/y. Otto- 
line, with a stony coiintetiance, also eyes Dun- 
ning askance, and gives the barest possible 
incli}iaiion of her head on being named. 

Bertram. 

[Bringing forward the chair on which he has been sitting 
and planting it nearer to Sir Randle and Lady Filson 
— to Dunning.] I suppose you may 

Dunning. 

[ Taki7ig off his gloves and overcoat — to Phi Li p . ] D'ye 
mind if I slip my coat off, Mr. Mackworth i 

Philip. 
[Grow ling. 1 No. 

Dunning. 
Don't want to get overheated, and catch the flue. Fve 
got Mrs. D, in bed with a bad cold, as it is. 



TEE BIG DRUM 159 

Bertram. 
[To Dunning.] Now, then, Mr. Dunning! I'll 
trouble you to give us an account of your operations in 
this business from the outset 

Dunning. 
[Hanging his coat over the back of the chair."] Pleasure. 

Bertram. 

The business of Mr. Mackworth's new book, I mean 
t'say. 

Dunning. 
[Sitting and placing his hat on thejloor.'] Pleasure. 

Bertram. 
Middle of October, wasn't it, when I ? 



Dunning. 
Later. [Producing a dog s-eared little memorandum-book 
and turning its leaves with a moistened thumb. ~\ Here we 
are — the twenty-fourth. [To everybody, referring to his 
notes as he proceeds — glibly.] Mr. Filson called on me 
and Mr. Sillitoe, ladies and gentlemen, on the twenty- 
fourth of last month with reference to a book by Mr. P. 
Mackworth — "The Big Drum" — published September 
the second, and drew our attention to the advertisements 
of Mr. Mackworth's pubHsher — Mr. Clifford Titterton, of 
John Street, Adelphi — relating to the same. Mr. F. hav- 
ing made us acquainted with the special circumstances of 
the case, and furnished us with his reasons for doubting 
Titterton's flowery statements, [wetting his thumb again and 
turning to the next leaf of his note-book] on the following 
day, the twenty-fifth, I purchased a copy of the said book 
at Messrs. Blake and Hodgson's in the Strand, Mr. 
Hodgson himself informing me in the course of con versa- 



160 THE BIG DRUM 

tion that, as far as his firm was concerned, the book 
wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. \_Repeaiing 
the thumb process^ I then proceeded to pump one of the 
gals — er — to interrogate one of the assistants — at a circu- 
lating library Mrs. D. subscribes to, with a similar result. 
[ Turning to the next leaf.'] My next step 

Sir Randle. 
I wonder whether these elaborate preliminaries ? 

Bertram. 
Oh, don't interrupt, father ! I mean to say / 

Dunning. 
\Jmperturbably.'\ My next step was to place the book 
in the hands of a lady whose liter'y judgment is a great 
deal sounder than mine or Mr. Sillitoe's — I allude to 
Mrs. D. — and her report was that, though amusing in 
parts, she didn't see anything in it to set the Thames on 
fire. 

Philip. 
\Laughing in spite of himself .] Ha, ha, ha! 

ROOPE, 

Ha, ha ! \To Philip, with mock sympathy.] Dear 
excellent friend ! 

Bertram. 
\To RooPE.] Yes, all right, Mr. Roope ! 

Dunning. 

\Tuming to the next leaf] I and Mr. Sillitoe then 
had another confab — er — consultation with Mr. Filson, 
and we pointed out to him that it was up to his father and 
mother to challenge Titterton's assertions and invite 
proof of their accuracy. 



THE BIO DBUM 161 

ROOPE, 

{^Quietly. 1 Obviously ! 

Dunning. 

Mr. F. , however, giving us to understand that he was 
acting solely on his own, and that he wished the investi- 
gation kept from his family, we proposed a different 
plan 

Bertram. 
To which I reluctantly assented. 

Dunning. 

To get hold of somebody in Titterton's office — one of 
his employees, male or female 

Lady Filson. 
[Shocked.'] Oh ! Oh, Bertie ! 

Ottoline. 
[Rising, with a gesture of disgust.] Ah ! 

Sir Randle. 

[TJ? Bertram] Really! Really, Bertram ! 

[Seeing Ottoline rise, Philip also rises and comes 
to her. 

Lady Filson. 
That a son of mine should countenance ! 

Ottoline. 

[Panting,] Oh, but this is — this is outrageous! [To 
Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Dad — mother — why 
should we degrade ourselves by listening any further? 
[7b Philip.] Philip 1 



16^ THE BIG DBXiM 

Philip. 

\_Patting her shoulder soothingly.'] Tsch, tsch, 
tsch ! 

Bertram. 
\_To Lady Filson a7id Sir Randle.] My dear 
mother — my dear father — you're so impatient ! 

Philip. 

[ To Ottoline.] Tsch, tsch ! Go back to the fire and 
toast your toes again. 

Bertram . 

I consider I was fully justified, I mean t'say 

\_Falteringly Ottoline returns to the fireplace. 
She stands there for a few secoftds, clutching 
the mantel-shelf and then subsides into the 
chair before the fire. Philip advances to the 
settee on the right. 

Philip. 

[ To Dunning.] Sorry we have checked your flow 
of eloquence, Mr. Dunning, even for a moment. 
\Sitting7\ I wouldn't miss a syllable of it. \_Airily^ 
Do, please, continue. 

Sir Randle. 
\_Looking at his watch.] My dear Philip ! 

Bertram. 

[ To Dunning, wearily^ Oh, come to the man — what's 
his name, Dunning ? — Merry weather ! 

Dunning. 

[ Turning several pages of his note-book with his wet 
thumb.] Merrifield. 



THE BIG DRUM 163 

Bertram. 

Merrifield. \_Passing behind Dunning and half-seating 
hiinself on the further end of the table on the left, '\ Skip 
everything in between ; \sarcastically\ my father and 
mother are dying for their dinner. 

Lady Filson. 
Bertram ! 

Dunning. 

\_Finding the rnemorandwn he is searching for, and 
quoting from it.'\ Henry Merrifield — entry clerk to Tit- 
terton — left Titterton, after a row, on the fifteenth of the 
present month 

Bertram. 
A stroke of luck — Mr. Merrifield — if ever there was 
one ! I mean t'say — — 

Dunning. 

\To everybody.'] Having gleaned certain significant 
facts from the said Henry Merrifield, ladies and gentle- 
men, \_referring to his notes] I paid two visits last week 
to the offices of Messrs. Hopwood & Co., of 6, Car- 
michael Lane, Walbrook, described in fresh paint on 
their door as Shipping and General Agents ; and the 
conclusion I arrived at was that Messrs. Hopwood 
& Co. were a myth and their offices a blind, the latter 
consisting of a small room on the ground floor, eight foot 
by twelve, and their staff of the caretakers of the prem- 
ises — Mr. and Mrs. Sweasy — an old woman and her hus- 
band 

ROOPE. 

[7^ Dunning.] If I may venture to interpose again, 
what on earth have Messrs. Hopwood ? 



164 TEE BIG DRUM 

Sir Randle. 
Yes, what have Messrs. Hopwood ? 

Bertram. 

\_Over his shoulder. '\ Ho! What have Messrs. Hop- 
wood ! 

ROOPE. 

\To 'Be.wtka^, pointing to Dunning.] I am address- 
ing this gentleman, dear excellent friend 

Dunning. 
\_To RooPE.] I'll tell you, sir. [^Incisively.l^ It's to 
the bogus firm of Hopwood & Co. that the bulk of 
the volumes of Mr. Mackworth's new book have been 
consigned. 

Bertram. 

\Getting off the table, eagerly.'] Dunning has seen 
them, I mean t'say 



Sir Randle. 
[7b Bertram, startled.'] Be silent, Bertie ! 

Lady Filson. 
\To Bertram, holding her breath.] Do be quiet ! 

RooPE. 
\_Blankly.] The — the bulk of the volumes ? 

Philip. 
[Staring at Dunning.] The — the bulk of the ? 

Dunning. 

\To Sir Randle and Roope.] Yes, gentlemen, the 
books are in a mouldy cellar, also rented by Messrs. 
Hopwood. at 6, Carmichael Lane. There's thousands 



THE BIG DRUM 165 

of them there, in cases — some of the cases with ship- 
ping marks on them, some marked for inland dehvery. 
I've inspected them this afternoon — overhauled them. 
Mr. Sweasy had gone over to the Borough to see his 
married niece, and I managed to get the right side of 
Mrs. S. 

Sir Randle. 

\Sofily, looking from one to the other.'] Curious ! Curi- 
ous! 

Lady Filson. 
[Forcing a smile.] How — -how strange ! 

ROOPE. 

[To Lady Filson, a little disturbed.'] Why strange, 
dear Lady Filson ? Shipping and other marks on the 
cases ! These people are forwarding agents 

Dunning. 
[Showing his teeth.] Nobody makes the least effort 
to despatch the cases, though. That's singular, isn't 
it? 

But ! 



ROOPE. 



Dunning. 
[To RooPE.] My good sir, in the whole of our expe- 
rience — mine and Mr. Sillitoe's — we've never come across 
a neater bit of hankey-pankey — [to Philip] no offence — 
and if Merrifield hadn't smelt a rat 

RooPE. 

But — but — but — the cost of it all, my dear Mr. Dun- 
ning ! I don't know much about these things — the ex- 
pense of manufacturing many thousands of copies of Mr. 
Mackworth's new book ! 



166 THE BIG DRUM 

Sir Randle. 

\_Aiertly.'] Quite so ! Surely, if we were to be deceived, 
a simpler method could have been found ? 

ROOPE. 

[ With energy. '] Besides, what has Mr. Titterton to gain 
by the deception ? 

Sir Randle. 
True ! True ! What has he to gain ? 

Philip. 

\_Who is sitting with his hands hanging loosely, utterly 
bewildered — rousing himself. '\ Good God, yes ! What 
has Titterton to gain by joining me in a blackguardly 
scheme to — to — to ? 

Dunning. 
[7^ Sir Randle and Roope.] Well, gentlemen, in 
the first place, it's plain that Titterton was too fly to risk 
being easily blown upon 

Bertram. 

He was prepared to prove that the books have been 
manufactured and delivered, I mean t'say 

Dunning. 
And in the second place, on the question of expense, 
the speculation was a tolerably safe one. 

Lady Filson. 
\Keenly.'\ Speculation ? 

Dunning. 
Madarme dee Showmeeay being, according to my in- 
structions — \to Lady Filson, after a glance in Ottoline's 
directiori\ no offence, ladies — \Jo Sir Randle and Roope] 



THE BIO DRUM 167 

Madarme dee Showmeeay being what is usually termed 
a catch, Mr. Mackworth would have been in a position, 

after his marriage, to reimburse Titterton 

[Philip starts to his feet with a cry of rage. 

Philip. 
Oh ! 

ROOPE. 

\jfumping up and hurrying to '^niL.iP^pacifying him.'\ 
My dear Phil — my dear old. chap 

Philip. 
[^Grasping Roope's armJ] Robbie 



[Sir Randle rises and goes to Lady Filson. 
She also rises as he approaches her. They 
gaze at each other with expressionless faces. 

Roope. 
\To Philip.] Where does Titterton live ? 

Philip. 
Gordon Square. 

Roope. 

[^Pointing to the telephone. '\ Telephone — have him 
round 

Philip. 
He's not in London. 

Roope. 
Not ? 

Philip. 

He's gone to the Riviera — left this morning. \Cross- 
ing to Sir Randle and Lady Filson — appealingly.'] 



168 THE BIG DRUM 

Lady Filson — Sir Randle— ^^« don't believe that Titter- 
ton and I could be guilty of such an arrant piece of 
knavery, do you? Ho, ho, ho ! It's preposterous. 

Sir Randle. 

[^Constrainedly.'] Frankly — I must be frank — I hardly 
know what to believe. 

Lady Filson. 

[Pursing her mouth.] We — we hardly know what to 
believe. 

Philip. 
[Leaving them,] Ah ! 

ROOPE. 

[ Who has dropped into the chair by the smo king-table — 
to Sir Randle.] Sir Randle — dear excellent friend — let 
us meet Mr, Dunning to-morrow at Messrs. Hopwood's 
in Carmichael Lane — we three — you and I and Mack- 
worth 

Philip. 

[Pacing up and down between the table on the left and 
the bookcase.] Yes, yes — before I wire to Titterton — or 
see Curtis, his manager 

RooPE. 
[Over his shoulder, to Dunning.] Hey, Mr. Dunning? 

Dunning. 

Pleasure. 

[While this has been going on, DvimiNG has put 
his note-book away and risen, gathering up his 
hat and overcoat as he does so. Bertram is 
now assisting him into his coat. 



THE BIG DRUM 169 

Sir Randle. 

\_Advancing a step or two^ At what hour ? 

Dunning. 

\Briskly^ Ten-thirty suit you, gentlemen ? 

Sir Randle, Philip, and Roope. 
[ Together.'^ Half-past-ten. 

Roope. 
[Scribbling with a pocket-pencil on his shirt-cuff^ 
6, Carmichael Lane, Walbrook 

Dunning. 
[Pulling down his under-coat.'] I'll be there. 

Roope. 

[Lowering his hands suddenly and leaning back in his 
chair, as if about to administer a poser^ By the way, 
Mr. Dunning, you tell us you have a strong conviction 
tliat Messrs. Hopwood & Co. are a myth, and their offices 
a sham — [caustic ally'\ may I ask whether you've tried to 
ascertain who is the actual tenant of the room and cellar 
in Carmichael Lane ? 

Bertram. 
[Sniggering?^ Why, Titterton, of course. I mean to 

say 1 

Roope. 
[ Waving Bertram down^l Dear excellent friend ! 

Dunning. 

[ Taking up his hat, which he has laid upon the smoking' 
table — to Roope, with a satisfied air7[ Mr. SiUitoe's got 
that in hand, sir. What I have ascertained is that a 
young feller strolls in occasionally and smokes a ciga- 
rette 



170 THE BIQ DRUM 

Bertram. 
And pokes about in the cellar 



Dunning. 
Calls himself Hopwood. But the name written on the 
lining of his hat — \io Bertram, carelessly] oh, I forgot to 
mention this to you, Mr. Filson. {^Producing his 
memorandum-book again.'\ Old mother Sweasy was ex- 
amining the young man's outdoor apparel the other day. 
[Turning the pages with his wet thumb.'\ The name on the 
hning of his hat is — \_finding the entry] is " Westrip." 
" Leonard Westrip." 

Bertram. 
Westrip ? 

Sir Randle. 
Leonard — Westrip ? 

Lady Filson. 
Mr. Westrip! 

Sir Randle. 

[To Dunning, blinking.] Mr. Westrip is my secre- 
tary. 

Bertram. 
[To Dunning, agape.] He's my father's secretary. 

Dunning. 
[To Sir Randle.] Your seckert'ry ? 

Philip. 
[Coming to the nearer end of the settee on the left.] The 
— the — the fair boy I've seen in Ennismore Gardens ! 



THE BIG DRUM 171 

ROOPE. 

[Rising and Joitiing SiR Randle andl^ATiY Filson — 
expressing his amazement by flourishing his arms.^ Oh, 
my dear excellent friends ! 

Lady Filson. 
ITo Sir Randle.] Randle— what — what next ! 

Sir Randle. 
^Closing his eyes.'] Astounding ! Astounding ! 

Dunning. 

\^Looking about him, rather aggressively?^ Well, I seem 
to have accidentally dropped a bombshell among you ! 
Will any lady or gentleman kindly oblige with some par- 
ticulars ? \To Ottoline, who checks him with an 

imperious gesture — changing his tone.] I beg your pardon, 

madarme 

[Ottoline has left her chair and come to the 
writing-table, where, with a drawn face and 
downcast eyes, she is now standing erect, 

Ottoline. 

\To Dunning, repeating her gesture.] Stop! \To 
Lady Filson and Sir Randle, in a strained voice.] 

Mother — Dad 

[Everybody looks at her, surprised at her manner. 

Lady Filson. 
Otto dear ? 

Ottoline. 

I — I can't allow you all to be mystified any longer. I 
— I can clear this matter up. 

Sir Randle. 
You, my darling ? 



172 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline. 

\Steadying herself by resting her finger-tips upon the 
tabie.~\ The — the explanation is that Mr. Westrip — \with 
a wan smile'\ poor boy — he would jump into the sea for 
me if I bade him — the explanation is that Mr. Westrip 
has been — helping me 

Lady Filson. 

_? 



Helping you 

Sir Randle. 
Helping you f 

Ottoline. 
\Inclining her head.'] Helping me. He — he 



\_ Raising her eyes defiantly and confro7iting them all."] 
Ecoutez I Robbie Roope has asked who is the actual 
tenant of the cellar and room in Carmichael Lane. 
\^Breathing deeply.] /am. 

Lady Filson. 
{^Advancing a few steps.] You are ! N-n-nonsense ! 

Ottoline. 

Mr. Westrip took the place for me — my arrangement 
with Titterton made it necessary 

Lady Filson. 
With Titterton ! Then he— he has ? 



Ottoline. 

Yes. The thousands of copies — packed in the cases 
with the lying labels — / have bought them — they're 
mine 

Lady Filson. 
Y-y-yours ! 



THE BIG i)BUM 173 

Ottoline. 
I — I was afraid the book had failed — and I went to 
Titterton — and bargained with him 

Lady Filson. 

So — so everything — everything that your brother and 
Mr. — Mr. Dunning have surmised ? 

Ottoline. 

Everything, mother — except that I am the culprit, and 
Mr. Mackworth is the victim. 

Lady Filson. 
Ottohne ! 

Ottoline. 

[^Passing her hand over her brmv.'] It — it's horrible of 
me to give Titterton away — but — what can I do ? — 
\^She turns her back upon them sharply and, leaning against 
the table, searches for her handkerchief. "^ Oh ! Need Mr. 

Dunning stay ? 

[Bertram, aghast, nudges Dunning and hurries 
to the vestibule door. Dunning follows him 
into the vestibule on tiptoe. Slowly and delib- 
erately Philip moves to the middle of the rootn 
and stands there with his hands clenched, glar- 
ing into space. Sir Randle, his jaw falling, 
sits in the chair on the extreme left. 

Lady Filson. 

{Touching Philip's arm sympathetic ally. '\ Oh, 
Philip ! 

Dunning. 

\To Bertram, in a whisper.'] Phiou ! Rummy devel- 
opment this, Mr. Filson! 



174 TEE BIG DRUM 

Bertram. 

[ To Dunning , in the sa?ne way."] Awful. [ Opening the 
outer door.~\ I — I'll see you in the m-m-morning. 

Dunning. 

Pleasure. [^Raising his voice."] Evening, ladies and 
gentlemen. 

Lady Filson. 

[^Again sitting on the settee on the left, also searchittg/or 
her handkerchief?^ G-g-good-night. 

Sir Randle. 
\Weakly.'\ Good-night. 

ROOPE. 

\Who has wandered to the bookcase like a man in a 
trance. ] Good-night. 

[Dunning disappears, and Bertram closes the 
outer door and co7nes back into the room. 
Shutting the vestibule door, he si^iks into the 
chair lately vacated by Dunning. There is a 
silence, broken at length by a low, grating 
laugh from Philip. 

Philip. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha ! 



Lady Filson. 
{Dolefully.] Oh, OttoUne— Ottoline 

Philip. 
Ha, ha, ha ! 



THE BIG DRUM 176 

Ottoline. 

[Creeping to the nearer end of the writing-tab le.'\ 
H'ssh! H'ssh! Philip— Philip ! 

Philip. 

\Loudly7[ Ho, ho, ho ! 

Ottoline. 

Don't ! don't ! [Making a movement of entreaty 

towards him.'\ Phil — Phil ! 

[His laughter ceases abruptly and he looks her full 
in the face. 

Philip. 

[After a moment's pause, bitingly.'] Thank you — 
thank you — [turning from her and seating himself in the 
chair by the smoking-table and resting his chin on his fist'] 
thank you. 

[Again there is a pause, and then Ottoline draws 
herself up proudly and moves in a stately 
fashion towards the vestibule door. 

Ottoline. 
[At Bertram's side.'\ Bertram — my cloak 



[Bertram rises meekly and fetches her cloak. 

Sir Randle. 

[Getting to his feet and approaching Philip — mourn- 
fully. '\ Your mother's wrap, also, Bertram. 

Lady Filson. 
[Rising.'\ Yes, let us all go home. 

Sir Randle. 

[To Philip, laying a hand on his shoulder."] My 
daughter has brought great humihation upon us — upon 



176 TBE BIG DRUM 

her family, my dear Philip — by this — I must be harsh — 
by this unladylike transaction 

Lady Filson. 
I have never felt so ashamed in my life ! 

Sir Randle. 

[7^ Philip.] By-and-by I shall be better able to com- 
mand language in which to express my profound regret. 
\Offering his hand.'] For the present — good-night, and 
God bless you ! 

Philip. 

\Shaking Sir Handle's hand mechanically.'] Good- 
night. 

[As Sir Randle turns away, Lady Filson 
comes to Philip. Bertram, having helped 
Ottoline with her cloak, now brings Lady 
Filson' s wrap from the vestibule. Sir 
Randle takes it from him, and Bertram 
then returns to the vestibule and puts on his 
overcoat. 

Lady Filson. 

\To Philip, who rises ^^ You must have us to dinner 
another time, Philip. If I eat a crust to-night it will be 
as much as I shall manage. [Speaking lower, with 
genuine feeling.'] Oh, my dear boy, don t be too cast 
down — over your clever book, I mean ! [Taking him by 
the shoulders^ It's a cruel disappointment for you — and 

you don't deserve it. May I ? [She pulls him to her 

and kisses him.'] Good-night. 

Philip. 

[Gratefully.] Good-night. 

[Lady Filson leaves Vruat' and looks about for 



THE BIG DRUM 177 

her wrap. Sir Randle puts her into it and 
then goes into the vestibule and wrestles with 
his overcoat. 

Bertram. 

\Coming to Philip, humbly.'] M — M — Mackworth — I 
— 1 

Philip. 
\_Kindly.'] No, no ; don't you bother, old man 

Bertram. 
I — I could kick myself, Mackworth, I could indeed. 
I've been a sneak and a cad, I mean t'say, and — and 
I'm properly paid out 

Philip. 
[Shaking him gently.'] Why, what are you remorse- 
ful for ? You've only brought out the truth, Bertie 

Bertram. 
Yes, but I mean to say / 

Philip. 

And / mean to say that I'm in your debt for showing 
me that I've been a vain, credulous ass. Now be off 
and get some food. [Holding out his hand.] Good- 
night. 

Bertram. 

[Wringing Philip's hand.] Good-night, Mackworth. 
[Turning from Philip and seeing Roope, who, anxiously 
following events, is standing by the chair on the extreme 
left.] Good-night, Roope. 

Roope, 
G-g-good-night. 



178 THE BIO DRUM 

Lady Filson. 
\_Haif in the room and half in the vestibule — to RooPE, 
remembering his existence^ Oh, good-night, Mr. Roope ! 

ROOPE. 

Good-night, dear Lady Filson. 

Sir Randle. 
\In the vestibule.'\ Good-night, Mr. Roope. 

Roope. 
Good-night. Good-night, dear excellent friends. 

Lady Filson. 

\To Ottoline, who is lingering by the big doors."] 

Ottoline 

[Lady Filson and Bertram Join Sir Randle 
in the vestibule and Sir Randle o^ens the 
outer door. Philip, his hands behind him 
and his chin on his breast, has walked to 
the fireplace and is standing there looking 
fixedly into the fire. Ottoline slowly comes 
forward and fingers the back of the chair by 
the smoking-table . 

Ottoline. 

Good-night, Philip. 

\He turns to her, makes her a stiff , formal bow , 
and faces the fire again. 

Roope. 
[Advancing to her — under his breath.] Oh ! 

Ottoline. 
{Giving him her hand.] Ah ! [ With a plaintive 
shrug.] Vous voyez I C'estfini apres tout I 



THE BIG DRUM 179 

ROOPE. 



No, no 



Ottoline. 

[^Withdrawing her hand.'] Pst ! '^Throwing her head 
up.] Good-night, Robbie. 

[ With a queenly air she sweeps into the vestibule 
and follows Sir Randle and Lady Filson 
out on to the landing. Bertram closes the 
vestibule door, and immediately afterwards the 
outer door slams. 

ROOPE. 

[ To Philip, in an agony.] No, no, Phil ! It mustn't 
end like this ! Good lord, man, reflect — consider what 
you're chucking away! You're mad — absolutely mad! 
[Philip calmly presses a bell-push at the side of the fire- 
place.] I'll go after 'em — and talk to her. I'll talk to 
her, [Running to the vestibule door and opening it.] 
Don't wait for me. [Going into the vestibule and grab- 
bing his hat and overcoat.] It's a tiff — a lovers' tiff! It's 
nothing but a lovers' tiff I [Shutting the vestibule door, 

piteously.^^ Oh, my dear excellent friend ! 

[John appears, opening one of the big doors a 
little way. Again the outer door slams. 

Philip. 
\To John, sternly.] Dinner. 

John. 

[Looking for the guests — dumbfoundered.] D-d-dinner, 
sir? 

Philip, 
Serve dinner. 



180 TEE BIG DRUM 

John. 

\^His eyes bolting.'] The — the — the ladies and gentle- 
men have gone, sir ! 

Philip. 

Yes. I'm dining alone. 

[John vanishes precipitately ; whereupon Philip 
strides to the big doors, thrusts them wide open 
with a blow of his fists, and sits at the dining- 
table. 



END OF THE THIRD ACT 



THE FOURTH ACT 

The scene is the same, the light that of a fine winter 
morning. The big doors are open, and from the din- 
ing-room windows, where the curtains are now drawn 
back, there is a view of some buildings opposite and, 
through a space between the buildings, of the tops of the 
bare trees in Grafs Inn garden. 

Save for a chair with a crumpled napkin upon it which 
stands at the dining-table before the remains of Philip's 
breakfast, the disposition of the furniture is as when 
first shown. 

A fire is burning in the nearer room. 

[Philip, dressed as at the opening of the preceding act, is 
seated on the settee on the right, moodily puffing at his 
pipe. RooPE faces him, in the chair by the smoking- 
table, with a mournful air. Roope is in his overcoat 
and is nursing his hat. 

Philip. 

[ To Roope, shortly, as if continuing a conversation^ 
Well? 

Roope. 

Well, what happened was this. I 

\^He breaks off to glance over his shoulder into the 
further room. 

Philip. 
Go on. Nobody'U hear you. John's out. 

181 



182 THE BIG DRUM 

ROOPE. 

What happened was this. I overtook 'em at the 
bottom of the stairs, and begged 'em to let me go back 
with them to Ennismore Gardens. Lady Filson and I 
got into one cab. Sir Randle and Madame de Chaumie 
into another. Bertram Filson slunk off to his club. At 
Ennismore Gardens we had the most depressin' meal 
I've ever sat down to, and then Madame Ottoline pro- 
posed that I should smoke a cigarette in her boudoir. 
[^Distressed. ~\ Oh, my dear Phil ! 

Philip. 
W-w-what ? 

RooPE. 

I can't bear to see a woman in tears ; I can't, posi- 
tively. 

Philip. 

[^Between his teeth.~\ Confound you, Robbie, who can ! 
Don't brag about it. 

ROOPE. 

At first she swept up and down the room like an out- 
raged Empress. Her skirts created quite a wind. I 
won't attempt to tell you all the bitter things she 
said 

Philip. 
Of me? 

RooPE. 
And of me, dear excellent friend. 

Philip. 
\Grimly.'\ For your share in the business. 



THE BIG DRUM 183 

ROOPE. 

\^With a nod.'] The fatal luncheon in South Audley 
Street. However, she soon softened, and came and 
knelt by the fire. And suddenly — you've seen a child 
fall on the pavement and cut its knees, haven't you, 
Phil ? 

Philip. 
Of course I have. 

RooPE. 
That's how she cried. I was really alarmed. 

Philip. 
The — the end of it being ? 

ROOPE. 

[^Dismally.'] The end of it being that she went off to 
bed, declaring that she recognizes that the breach be- 
tween you is beyond healing, and that she's resolved 
never to cross your path again if she can avoid it. 

Philip. 

[Laying his pipe aside.] Ha ! [Scowling at Roope.] 
And so this is the result of your self-appointed mission, 
is it? 

Roope. 
[Hurt.] That's rather ungrateful, Phil 



Philip. 
[Starting up and walking away to the left.] P'sha ! 

Roope. 
If you'd heard how I reasoned with her ! 



lU THE BIO DRUM 

Philip. 

[Striding up and down.'] What had I better do? It's 
good of you to be here so early. [Roope rises,] I'm not 
ungrateful, Robbie. Advise me. 

Roope. 

[Sti^y.] I assume, from your tone, that what you wish 
to do is to — er ? 

Philip. 
To abase myself before her ; to grovel at her feet and 
crave her pardon for my behavior of last night. What 
else should I want to do, in God's name ! 

Roope. 
[Z>rj//>/.] I see, you've slept on it. 

Philip. 

Laid awake on it. [^Fierceiy.] Do I look as if I'd slept 
the sleep of a healthy infant ? 

Roope. 

I don't know anything about infants, I am happy to 
say, healthy or ailing ; but certainly your treatment of 
Madame de Chaumi^ was atrocious. 

Philip. 

Brutal, savage, inhuman ! [Halting and extending his 
arms.] And what's been her fault ? She's dared to love 
me eagerly, impetuously, uncontrollably — me, a con- 
ceited, egotistical fellow who is no more worth her de- 
votion than the pompous beast who opens her father's 
front-door ! And because, out of her love, she commits 
a heedless, impulsive act which deals a blow at my rotten 
pride, I slap her face and turn my back upon her, and 



mE BIG DRUM 16S 

Suffer her to leave my rooms as though she's a char- 
woman detected in prigging silver from my cash-box ! 

\Clasping his brow and groaning. '\ Oh ! {In sudden 

fury at seeing RoOPE thoughtfully examining his hat.'] 
Damn it, Robbie, stop fiddling with your hat or you'll 
drive me crazy ! 

{He sits on the settee on the left and rests his head 
on his fists. Roope hastily deposits his hat on 
the smo king-table. 

Roope. 
{Approaching Philip coldly.] I was considering, dear 
excellent friend— but perhaps in your present state of 
irritability 

Philip. 
{Holding out his hand penitently."] Shut up ! 

Roope. 

{Presenting Philip with two fingers.] I was consider- 
ing — when you almost sprang at my throat — I was con- 
sidering that it isn't at all unlikely that Madame de 
Chaumie's frame of mind is a trifle less inflexible this 
morning. She has slept — or laid awake — on the events 
of last night too, recollect. 

Philip. 

{Raising his head.] Having been kicked out of this 
place a {^w hours ago, her affection for me revives with 
the rattle of the milk-cans ! 

Roope. 

{Evasively.] At any rate, she must be conscious that 
you were smarting under provocation. She confessed as 
much during our talk. {Magnanimously.] Even /admit 
you had provocation. 



186 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

That never influenced a woman, Robbie. Besides, 
I've insulted this one before — grossly insulted her, in the 
old days in Paris 

ROOPE. 

Ancient history ! My advice is — since you invite it — 
my advice is that you write her a letter 

Philip. 
I've composed half-a-dozen already. \Poiniing to a 
waste-paper basket by the writing-table^ The pieces are 
in that basket. 

ROOPE. 

No, no ; not a highly-wrought performance. Simply 
a line, asking her to receive you. [Philip rises listlessly.' 
Send it along by messenger. \With growing enthusiasjn. 
Look here ! I'll take it ! 

Philip. 

\Gloomily, his hand on Roope's shoulder^ Ho, ho! 
You — you indefatigable old Cupid ! 

RooPE. 

\_Loo king at his watch.'] Quarter-past-ten. \_Excitedly.'] 
Phil, I bet you a hundred guineas — \correcting himself] 
er — well — five pounds — I bet you five pounds I'm with 
you again, with a favorable reply, before twelve ! 

Philip. 

{Clapping RooPE on the back.] Done ! {Crossing to the 
writing-table,] At the worst, I've earned a fiver. 

RooPE. 
\As Philip sits at the table and takes a sheet of paper 
and an envelope from a drawer.] May I suggest ? 



THE BIG DRUM 187 

Philip. 
\I)ipping his pen in the ink.~\ Fire away, old chap. 

ROOPE. 

[Seeking for inspiration by gazing at the ceiling 7\ 

H'm \_Dictating.'] " Forgive me. I forgive you. 

When may I come to you? " [2b Philip.] Not another 
word. 

Philip. 

\_As he writes.'\ By George, you've got the romantic 
touch, Robbie ! If you'd been a hterary bloke, what 
sellers ^^z^'^ have written ! 

ROOPE. 

[Behind the smoking- table, sjnoothing his hair compla- 
cently^ Funny, your remark. As a matter of fact, I 
used to dabble a little in pen-and-ink as a young man. 

Philip. 

[Reading, a tender ring in his voice, ~\ " Forgive me. 
I forgive you. When may I come to you?" [Adding 
his signature.'] "Philip," 

ROOPE. 

Admirable ! 

Philip. 

[Folding and enclosing the note — catching some of 
Roope's hopefulness. '\ In the meantime I'll array myself 
in my Sunday-best — [moistening the envelope'] on the 
chance 

Roope. 

Do ; at once. [Putting on his hat.~\ She may summon 
you by telephone 



188 TEE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

\_Addressing the envelope^ She gave me a scarf-pin 
yesterday — such a beauty. {Softlyr^ I'll wear it. \Ris- 
ing and giving the note to Roope.] Bless you, old boy ! 
[RooPE pockets the note, grasps Philip's hand 
hurriedly, and bustles to the vestibule door. 

Roope. 

My quickest way is the Tube to Bayswater, and then a 

taxi across the Park 

[//«? has entered the vestibule — omitting to close the 
door in his haste — and has opened the outer door 
when Philip calls to him, 

Philip. 

[Standing behind the smoking-table — with a change 
of manner 7\ Robbie 

Roope. 
Hey? 

Philip. 

Robbie [Roope returns to Philip reluctantly, leav- 
ing the outer door open. ] Oh, Robbie — [gripping Roope' s 
arm'] how I boasted to you of my triumph — my grand 
victory ! How I swaggered and bellowed, and crowed 
over you ! 

Roope. 

[Fidgeting to get away.'] Yes, but we won't discuss 
that now, Phil 

Philip. 

[Detaining him.] Wait. [Brokenly.] Robbie — should 
Ottoline show any inclination to — to patch matters up, you 
may tell her — as from me — that I — I've done with it. 



THE BIG DRUM 189 

ROOPE. 

[ lVonderingiy.'\ Done with it ? 

Philip. 

My career as a writing-man. It's finished. [Hanging 
his head.'\ I'm sorry to break faith with her people ; but 
she may take me, if she will, on her own terms — a poor 
devil who has proved a duffer at his job, and who is con- 
tent henceforth to be nothing but her humble slave and 
dependant. 

RooPE. 

[Energetically.'] My dear Phil, for heaven's sake, 
don't entertain such a notion ! Abandon your career 
just when you're making a noise in the world ! 

Philip. 
[Throwing up his hands.] Noise in the world ! 

ROOPE. 

When you're getting the finest advertisement an author 
could possibly desire ! 

Philip. 
[ Choking.] Advertisement ! 



ROOPE. 

I can sympathize with your feeHng mortified at not 
scoring entirely off your own bat ; but, deuce take it, 
your book is in its thirteenth edition ! 

Philip. 

[Laughing wildly^ Ho, ho, ho ! [Moving to the fire- 
place.] Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

ROOPE. 

[Testily.] Oh, I'm glad I amuse you \ 



190 TEE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

[Coming to the settee on the right."] You're marvellous, 
Robbie — incomparable ! 

ROOPE. 

[Again preparing to depart."] Indeed ? 

Philip. 

Ha, ha, ha ! 

[A moment earlier. Sir Timothy Barradell has 

appeared in the vestibule, trying, in the dim 
light there, to decipher the name on the outer 
door. Hearing the sound of voices, he turns 
and reveals himself. 

Sir Timothy. 

[Looking into the room and encountering Roope.] 
Roope ! 

Roope. 

[As they shake hands — astonished.] Dear excellent 
friend, what a surprise ! 

Sir Timothy. 

Ah, don't flatter yourself you're the only early riser in 
London! [SeeingV^aiAY^ Mr.;Mackworth — [advancing] 
I found your door open and I took the liberty 

Philip. 

[Meeting him in the middle of the room.] Sir Timothy 
Barradell, isn't it ? 

Sir Timothy. 

It is. [They shake hands, cordially on Sir Timothy's 
part, with more formality on Philip's.] It's an un- 
ceremonious hour for a call, but if you'd spare me five 
minutes 



THE BIG DRUM 191 

Philip. 

\_Civilly.'\ Pray sit down, \jfoining ROOPE at the 
entrance to the vestibule. '\ Robbie has to run away 

RooPE. 

{Diplomatic ally. '\ Can't stay another moment. {Wav- 
ing a hand to Sir Timothy.] Au revoir, dear Sir 
Timothy ! 

Sir Timothy. 

[Laying his hat upon the settee on the right and taking 
off his gloves.'] So long ! [Philip and Roope stare at 
Sir Timothy, whose back is towards them. Roope gives 
Philip an inquiring look, which Philip answers by a 
shrug and a shake of the head ; and then Philip lets 
Roope out and comes back into the room. Sir Timothy 
turns to him.] I'm afraid you think I'm presuming on a 
very sUght acquaintance, Mr. Mackworth 

Philip. 
{Shutting the vestibule door.] Not in the least. 

Sir Timothy. 
Anyhow I'll not waste more of your valuable time than 
I can help. [Philip points to the settee and the two men 
sit, Sir Timothy on the settee, Philip in the chair by the 
smoking-table. Sir Timothy inspects the toes of his boots.] 
Mr. Mackworth, I— I won't beat about the bush— it's a 
delicate subject I'm approaching you on. 

Philip. 
{Leaning back in his chair.] Really? 

Sir Timothy. 

An extremely delicate s\xh]tct— [raising his eyes] 
Madame de Chaumie. 



192 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 
Madame de Chaumie ? 

Sir Timothy. 

In the first place, I suppose you're aware that I had 
the temerity to propose marriage to the lady in the sum- 
mer of this year ? 

Philip. 

Yes, I'm aware of it. Madame de Chaumie informed 
me of the circumstance. 

Sir Timothy. 

\_Nodding!^ She would ; she would. \Straightening 
himself.~\ Well, Mr. Mackworth, while I was abroad I 
heard from various sources that you had become a 
pretty regular visitor at the house of her parents, and that 
you and she were to be seen together occasionally in the 
secluded spots of Kensington Gardens ; and I naturally 
inferred that it was yourself she'd had the good taste to 
single out from among her numerous suitors. 

Philip. 

\With a smiVe.l I'd rather you didn't put it in that 
way, Sir Timothy ; but I guessed yesterday that the facts 
of the case had reached you through some channel or 
other. 

Sir Timothy. 
Yesterday ? 

Philip. 
When Robbie Roope brought me your kind greetings. 

Sir Timothy. 
Ah, that's nice of you ! l^Cons/ratned/y.'] That's — nice 
of you, 



THE BIO DRUM 193 

Philip. 

\Changing his position and unbending. 1 But tell me ! 
I don't know yet what you have to say to me about 
Madame de Chaumie — but why should you find it em- 
barrassing to speak of her to me ? \Getitly.'\ We're men 
of the world, you and I ; and it isn't the rule of life that 
the prize always goes to the most deserving. [ With 
animation^ 

" And in the world, as in the school, 
I'd say, how fate may change and shift ; 
The prize be sometimes with the fool, 
The race not alv/ays to the swift. 
The strong may yield, the good may fall. 
The great man be a vulgar clown. 
The knave be hfted over all. 
The kind cast pitilessly down." 

So sang one of the noblest gentlemen who have ever fol- 
lowed my calling ! 

[7 here is a brief silence , and />^^« Sir TiMOTHY 

rises abruptly and walks to the fireplace. 

Philip looks after him, perplexed. 

Sir Timothy. 
\Facing the fire.'] Mr. Mackworth 



Philip. 



Eh? 



Sir Timothy. 
I saw Bertram Filson last night — her brother. 

Philip. 
[^Pricking up his ears.] You did ? Where ? 



194 THE BIO DRUM 

Sir Timothy. 

At the club — the Junior Somerset. He came in late, 
looking a bit out of gear, and ate a mouthful of dinner 
and drank a whole bottle of Pommery ; and afterwards 
he joined me in the smoking-room and — and was exceed- 
ingly communicative. 

Philip. 
[^Attentively.'] Oh? 

Sir Timothy. 

I didn't encourage him to babble — \_turning] 'twas 
he that insisted on confiding to me what had oc- 
curred 



Philip. 



Occurred ? 



Sir Timothy. 

That you and Madame de Chaumie had had a serious 
difference, and that there's small prospect of its being 
bridged over. 

Philip. 

l^Glaring.] Oh, he confided that to you, did he, Sir 
Timothy ? 



Sir Timothy. 



He did. 



Philip. 

[Rising and pacing up and down on the left."] And 
what the devil does Filson mean by gossiping about 
me at a club — me and my relations with Madame de 
Chaumie ! 



TEE BIG DRUM 195 

Sir Timothy. 
{Advancing a littler^ Ah, don't be angry I The cham- 
pagne he'd drunk had loosened his tongue. And then, 
I'm a friend of the family 

Philip. 

Infernal puppy ! 

Sir Timothy. 
Referring to Filson ? 

Philip. 
Of course. 

Sir Timothy. 
{Mildly. '\ Well, whether young Filson's a puppy or 
not, now perhaps you begin to appreciate my motive 
for intruding on you ? 

Philip. 
{Halting. '\ Hardly. 

Sir Timothy. 

You don't! {Rumpling his hair."] I'll try to make it 
plainer to you. {Behind the smo king-tab le."] Er — will I 
smoke one of your cigarettes ? 

Philip. 
{Frigidly polite. ~\ Please. 

Sir Timothy. 

{Taking a cigarette from the box on the table.'] Mr. 
Mackworth, if Filson's prognostications as to the re- 
sult of the quarrel between you and his sister are 
fulfilled, it's my intention, after a decent interval, to 
renew my appeal to her to marry me. {Striking a 
match.'l Is that clear? 



196 THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 
Perfectly. [SiifflyJ] But all the same, I'm still at a 
loss 

Sir TimothYo 
[Lighting his cigarette.'] At a loss, are you ! [ Warmly.'] 
You're at a loss to understand that I'm not the sort of 
man who'd steal a march upon another where a woman's 
concerned, and take advantage of his misfortunes in a 
dirty manner ! [Coming to Philip.] Mackworth — I'll 
drop the Mister, if you've no objection — Mackworth, I 
promise you I won't move a step till I have your assur- 
ance that your split with Madame de Chaumie is a 
mortal one, and that the coast is open to all comers. 
That's my part o' the bargain, and I expect you on your 
side to treat me with equal fairness and frankness. 
[Offering his hand.] You will? 

Philip. 

My dear Sir Timothy — my dear Barradeli — [shaking 
Sir Timothy's hand heartily] you're the most chival- 
rous fellow I've ever met ! 

Sir Timothy. 
[ Walking away.] Ah, go on now ! 

Philip. 
[Following him.] I apologize sincerely for being so 



curt. 



Sir Timothy. 



Don't mention it. 



Philip. 
It's true, Ottoline and I have had a bad fall out. 
[Keenly.] Did Filson give you any particulars ? 



THE BIG DRUM 197 

Sir Timothy. 

I gathered 'twas something arising out of a book of 
yours 

Philip. 

Y-y-yes ; a silly affair in which I was utterly in the 
wrong. I lost my accursed temper — made a disgrace- 
ful exhibition of myself. \Touching Sir Timothy's 
arm.'\ I will be quite straight with you, Barradell — 
Robbie Roope has just gone to her with a note from me. 
I don't want to pain you ; but Robbie and I hope that, 

after a night's rest \The bell rings in the vestibule^ 

Excuse me — my servant isn't in. [He goes into the vesti- 
bule, leaving the door open. Sir Timothy picks up his 
hat. On opening the outer door, Philip confronts Otto- 
line.] Otto ! 

Ottoline. 

\In the doorway, giving him both her hands."] Are you 
alone, Philip? 

Philip. 

[Drawing her into the vestibule, his eyes sparkling^ 
No. [ With a motion of his head."] Sir Timothy Barra- 
dell 

[Ottoline passes Philip and enters the room, 
holding out her hand to Sir Timothy. Her 
eyes are black-rimmed from sleeplessness ; but 
whatever asperity she has displayed overnight 
has disappeared, and she is again full of soft- 
ness and charm. 

Ottoline. 
Sir Tim ! 

Philip. 

[Shutting the outer door — breathing freely. "^ Kind of 
Sir Timothy to look me up, isn't it ? 



198 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline. 

\_7o Sir Timothy.] Vous eies un vaurien! When 
did you return ? 

Sir Timothy. 

\Who has flung his cigarette into the grate — ere stf alien. ~\ 
The day before yesterday. 

Ottoline. 

Then I mustn't scold you for not having been to see 
us yet. \Wonderingly.'\ You find time to call on Mr. 
Mackworth, though ! 

Sir Timothy. 

\With .a gulp.~\ I — I was on my way to my solicitors, 
who are in Raymond Buildings, and J remembered that 
I knew Mackworth years ago 

Philip. 

\_Loitering near the vestibule door, impatient for Sir 
Timothy's departure. '\ When I was a roUicking man- 
about-town, eh, Barradell ! 

Sir Timothy. 

{^Retaining Ottoline' s hand — to her, earnestly.'] My 
dear Madame de Chaumie 

Ottoline. 

Yes? 

Sir Timothy. 

\_Bracing himself] A little bird brought the news to 
me shortly after I left England. [She lowers her eyes.] I 
— I congratulate you and Mackworth — I congratulate you 
from the core of my heart. 

Ottoline. 
{In a quiet voice. '\ Thank you, dear Sir Timothy. 



THE BIG DRUM 199 

Sir Timothy. 

May you both be as happy as you deserve to be, and 
even happier ! 

Philip. 

Sir Timothy. 
[Squeezing her handJ] Good-bye for the present. 

Ottoline. 

[Smilingly.'] Good-bye. [He passes her and joins 
Philip. Unseen by Ottoline — who proceeds to loosen 
her coat at the settee on the right — Philip again gives Sir 
Timothy a vigorous hand-shake. Sir Timothy responds 
to it disconsolately, and is following Philip into the vesti- 
bule when he hears Ottoline call to him.] Sir Tim ! 

Sir Tlmothy. 
[Turning.] Hallo ! 

Ottoline. 
[Lightly^ Is your car here "i 

Sir Timothy. 
[Brightening^ It is. 

Ottoline. 

You may give me a lift to Bond Street, if your business 
with your lawyers won't keep you long. 

Sir Timothy. 
[Emfhatically^ It will not. [Beaming.] I told you a 
lie. I've no business with my lawyers. I came here ex- 
pressly to improve my acquaintance with the man who's 
to be your husband, and for no other purpose. 

[They all laugh merrily. 



200 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline. 

Ha, ha, ha ! \To Sir Timothy.] Wait for me in South 
Square, then. I sha'n't be many minutes. 

Sir Timothy. 

[Going into the vestibule.'] Ah, I'd wait an eternity ! 
[Philip and Sir Timothy shake hands once 
more, and then Philip lets Sir Timothy out. 

Philip. 

\_As he shuts the outer door.] By George, he's a splendid 
chap ! \He comes back into the room, closes the vestibule 
door, and advances to Ottoline and stands before her 
humbly,] Oh, OttoUne — oh, my dear girl ! Shall I go 
down on my knees to you .'' 

Ottoline. 

[/« a subdued tone.] If you do, I shall have to kneel 
to you, Phil. 

Philip. 

[Slowly folding her in his arms.] Ah ! Ah ! Ah ! 
[In her ear.] What a night I've spent ! 

Ottoline. 

[Almost inaudibly.] And 1 1 

[He seats her upon the settee on the right and sits 
beside her, linking his hand in hers. 

Philip. 

How merciful this is of you ! I've just sent you a letter 
by Robbie Roope, begging you to see me ; you've missed 
him. [Smiling^ It isn't as eloquent as some I started 
writing at five o'clock this morning. Would you like to 
hear it ? [She nods. He recites his note tenderly^ " For- 
give me. I forgive you. When may I come to you?'* 
That's all. 



THE BIG DRUM 201 

Ottoline. 
Isnt that eloquent, Phil ? 

Philip. 

[Smiling againJ] It's concise — and as long as you for- 
give me — [eyeing her with a shadow of fear \ you're sure 
you've forgiven me ? 

Ottoline. 
Sure. 

Philip. 
[Persistently.'] Without reserve ? 

Ottoline. 

Should I be here — [indicating their proximity] and 
kere — if I hadn't ? 

Philip. 

[Pressing her hand to his lips ardently, and then freeing 
her shoulders from her coat.] Take this off 

Ottoline. 
[Gently resisting^] Poor Sir Timothy ! 



Philip. 
[In high spirits.] Oh, a little exercise won't do Sir 
Timothy any harm ! [Helping her to slip her arms out of 
her coat.] Dash it, you might have let me escort you to 
Bond Street ! 

Ottoline. 
No, no ; your work 

Philip. 
[/lis brew clouding^ W-w-work - ? 



202 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline. 

You mustn't lose your morning's work. 

[IViere is a short pause, and then he rises and 
moves a few steps away from her. With an 
impassive countenance, she Jingers the buttons 
of her gloves. 

Philip. 

[Stroking the pattern of the carpet with his foot.'] 
Otto 

Ottoline. 
{Looking up. '\ Yes, Phil? 

Philip. 

I asked Robbie to tell you, if he had the opportunity, 
that I've decided to make my farewell salaam to author- 
ship. I'm no good at it ; I'm a frost ; I realize it at last. 
I've had my final whack on the jaw : I've fought — how 
many rounds? — and now I take the count and slink out 
of the ring, beat. [Producing his keys, he goes to the 
cabinet on the right, unlocks it, and selects from several 
cardboard portfolios one which he carries to the writing- 
table. While he is doing this, Ottoline — still with an 
expressionless face— rises and tnoves to the left, where she 
stands watching him. He opens the portfolio and, with 
a pained look, handles the sheets of manuscript in z/.] Ha ! 
You and I have often talked over this, haven't we, Otto? 

Ottoline. 
[Calmly. "] Often. 

Philip. 
[Taking the manuscript from the portfolio — thought- 
fully. "] It was to have been — oh, such an advance on my 
previous stuff — kindlier, less strenuous, more urbane ! 



THE BIG DRUM 203 

Success — success ! — had sweetened the gall in me ! 
\_Glancing at a partly covered page.'] Here's where I 
broke off yesterday. \_With a shrug.] In every man's 
life there's a chapter uncompleted, in one form or an- 
other! \_Throwing the manuscript into the portfolio.] 
Pst! Get back to your hole; I'll burn you later on. 
\_He rejoins her. She half turns from him, averting her 
head.] So end ray pitiful strivings and ambitions ! \Lay- 
ing his hand on her shoulder.] Ah, it's a miserable match 
you're making, Ottoline ! My two-hundred-a-year will 
rig me out suitably, and provide me with tobacco ; and 
the dribblets coming to me from my old books — through 
the honest publishers I deserted for Mr. Titterton ! — the 
dribblets coming from my old books will enable me to 
present you with a nosegay on the anniversaries of our 
wedding-day, and — by the time your hair's white — to 
refund you the money Titterton' s had from you. And 
there — with a little fame unjustly won, which, thank 
God, '11 soon die ! — there you have the sum of my posses- 
sions ! [Seizing her arms and twisting her round.] Oh, 
but I'll be your mate, my dear — your loyal companion 

and protector — comrade and lover ! 

\He is about to embrace her again, but she keeps 
him off by placing her hands against his breast. 

Ottoline. 
[Steeling herself. ] Phil 

Philip. 
[Unsuspectingly.] Eh? 

Ottoline. 
/arrived at a decision during the night too, Phil. 

Philip. 
Yes? 



204 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline. 

Don't — don't loathe me. [Shaking her head gravely. '\ 
I am not going to marry you. 

Philip. 
\Staring at her.'\ You're not going to — marry me? 

Ottoline. 
No, Philip. 

Philip. 

[After another pause^ You — you're overwrought, 
Otto ; you've had no sleep. Neither of us has had any 
sleep 

Ottoline. 
Oh, but I'm quite clear-headed 

Philip. 

[Bewildered.'] Why, just now you said you'd forgiven 
me — repeated it ! 

Ottoline. 
I do repeat it. If I've anything to forgive, I forgive 
you a thousand times 

Philip. 
And you allowed me to — to take you in my arms 

Ottoline. 
You shall take me in your arms again, Phil, once more, 
before we part, if you wish to. I'm not a girl, though 
you call me one 

Philip. 
[Sternly.'] Look here ! You don't imagine for an 
instant that I shall accept this ! You ! 



The big drum 205 

Ottoline. 

Ssh ! Try not to be hasty ; try to be reasonable. 
Listen to me 

PliiLlP. 

You — you mean me to understand that, in consequence 
of this wretched Titterton affair, you've changed your 
mind, and intend to chuck me ! 

Ottoline. 
Yes, I mean you to understand that. 

Philip. 
[ Turning from her indignantly .~\ Oh ! 

Ottoline. 

[Sitting in the chair by the smoking-table.^^ Philip — 

Philip [He hesitates, then seats himself on the settee 

opposite to her. She speaks with great firmness and 
deliberation.'^ Philip, while you were lying awake last 
night, or walking about your room, didn't you — think f 



Philip. 



[Hotly.'] Think 



Ottoline. 

No, no — soberly, steadily, searchingly. Evidently 
not, c her ami! [Bending forward. '\ Phil, after what has 
happened, can't you see me as I really am? , 

Philip. 
As you — are ? 

Ottoline. 

An incurably vulgar woman. An incurably common, 

vulgar woman. Nobody but a woman whose vulgarity 

is past praying for could have conceived such a scheme 

as I planned and carried out with that man Clifford 



206 THE BIQ DRUM 

Titterton — nobody. This — how shall I term it?- — this re* 
finement of mine is merely on the surface. We women 
are like the — what's the name of the little reptile? — the 
chameleon, isn't it? We catch the color of our sur- 
roundings. But what we were, we continue to be — in 
the grain. The vulgar-minded OttoHne Filson, who 
captivated, and disgusted, you in Paris is before you at 
this moment. The only difference is that then she was a 
natural person, and now she plays les grands roles. 
\Sitting upright and pressing her temples.'] Oh, I have 
fooled myself as well as you, Phil — deluded myself ! 



Philip. 
You're dog-tired, Otto. Your brain's in a fever. All 
you've done, you've done from your love for me, my 
dear — your deep, passionate love 

Ottoline. 

[^Wincing.'] Passionate love — parfaitement I [Looking 
at him.] But that feeling's over, Phil. 

Philip. 
Over? 

Ottoline. 

[Simply.] I shall always love you — always — always ; 
but my passion exhausted itself last night. For months 
it has borne me along on a wave. It was that that swept 
me to the door of Titterton 's office in John Street, 
Adelphi ; it was strong enough to drive me to any 
length. But last night, in those dreadful small hours, 
the wave beat itself out, and threw me up on to the 
rocks, and left me shivering — naked — ashamed — [draw- 
ing a deep breath] ah, but in my right senses ! 

[She unbuttons her left-hand glove, rolls the hand 

of the glove over her wrist, and takes her 

engagement-ring from her finger. 



TEE BIG DRUM 20t 

Philip. 

\_AgkasL'] Otto ! Otto ! What are you doing ! What 
are you doing ! \_Ske lays the ring carefully upon the 
smoking-table and rises and walks away. He rises with 
her, following her.'] To-morrow — when you've had some 
sleep — to-morrow 

I Ottoline. 

Never. Don't deceive yourself, Philip. [Going to the 

fireplaceJ] If anything was needed to strengthen my 

resolution, the announcement you've just made would 
supply it. 

Philip. 
\On the left. '\ Announcement? 

Ottoline. 

With regard to your hterary work. [Turning to him.'\ 
Ne voyez-vous pas ! I have begun to degrade you al- 
ready ! 

Philip. 
[Consciously 7\ Degrade me ? 

Ottoline. 

Degrade you. If I hadn't come into your life again, 
you would have accepted your reverse — your failure to 
gain popularity by your latest book — as you've accepted 
similar disappointments — with a shrug and a confident 
snap of your fingers. [Advancing^] But I've humbled 
you — bruised your spirit — shaken your courage ; and now 
you express your wiUingness — you I — to throw your pen 
aside, and tack yourself to my skirts, and to figure meekly 
for the rest of your existence as " Mrs. Mackworth's hus- 
band" ! [At the nearer end of the writing-tab le.] Mon 
Dieu I This is what I have brought you to ! 



dpd THE BIG DRUM 

Philip. 

[Biting his lip.'\ You — you wouldn't have me profit by 
the advertisement I've got out of " The Big Drum," Ot- 
toline — \ironically\ the finest advertisement I could wish 
for, according to Robbie ! You wouldn't have me sink 
as low as that? 

Ottoline. 
You can write under an alias — a nom de plume — until 
you've won your proper place 

Philip. 

\Uneasily.'\ Oh, well — perhaps — by-and-by — when we 
had settled down, you and I — and things had adjusted 
themselves 

Ottoline. 
Yes, when you'd grown sick and weary of your new 
environment, and had had time to reflect on the horrid 
trick I'd employed to get hold of you, and had learned to 
despise me for it, you'd creep back to your desk and 
make an effort to pick up the broken threads ! \Co7ning 
to the settee on the rightJ] Eh Men / Do you know what 
would happen then, Phil ? 

Philip. 
W-w-what ? 

Ottoline. 
[Intensely^ I should puff you, under the rose — 
quietly pull the strings — use all the influence I could rake 
up 

Philip. 

No, no 

Ottoline. 

I should. It's in my blood. I couldn't resist it. 
Whether you wrote as Jones, or Smith, or Robinson, 



THE BIG DRUM 209 

you'd find Jones, Smith, or Robinson artfully puffed and 
paragraphed and thrust under people's noses in the 
papers. I'm an incurably vulgar woman, I tell you ! 
[Snatching at her coat — harshiy.'] Ah, que je me connais ; 
que je me connais ! 

[She fumbles for the armholes of her coat. He 
goes to her quickly and they stand holding the 
coat between them and looking at each other. 

Philip. 
[After a silence.'\ You — you're determi»ed ? 

Ottoline. 
Determined. 

Philip. 
You — you cant be ! 

Ottoline. 
I am — I swear I am. 

Philip. 

[After a further silence. '\ Then it is — as you said last 
night ? 

Ottoline. 
What did I say last night ? I forget. 

Philip. 
[In a husky voice.~\ C est fini — apres tout! 

Ottoline. 
[Inclining her head.'\ C'estfini — afires tout. 

Philip. 
[Bitterly."] Ho! Ho, ho, ho! [Another pause. ^ So 
when — when April comes — we — we sha'n't ! 



210 THE BIG DRUM 

Ottoline. 

[Lowering her eyes — all gentleness again.'] We sha'n't 
walk under the trees in the Champs-Elysees, Phil 



Philip. 
Nor in the Allee de Longchamp — where we 

Ottoline. 
No, nor in the Allee de Longchamp. 

Philip. 

[Releasing her coat and thrusting his hands into his 
trouser-pockets.'] Somebody else'll gulp the milk at the 
Cafe d'Armenonville ! 

Ottoline. 
And at the Pre-Catalan 

Philip. 

And there'll be no one to gaze sentimentally at my old 
windows in the Rue Soufflot 

Ottoline. 
[Softly.'] Quarante-trois bis. [Sighing.] No one. 

Philip. 

[With a hollow laugh,] Ha, ha, ha ! C'estfini — apres 
tout I 

Ottoline. 

[\Firmly.] C est fini — apres tout. [She holds out her 
coat to him and he helps her into it. Suddenly, while 
her hack is turned to him, he utters a guttiiral cry and 
grips her shoulders savagely. She turns in surprise, her 
hand to her shoulder.] Oh, Phil- ! 



THE BIG DRUM 211 

Philip. 

\Pointing at her.~\ I see ! I see ! I see the end of it ! 
You'll marry Barradell ! You'll marry the fellow who's 
cooling his heels down below in South Square ! 

Ottoline. 
{Placidly, fastening her coat. '\ I may. 

Philip. 

\Choking.'\ Oh \ 

Ottoline. 
I may, if I marry at all — and he bothers any more 
about me. 

Philip. 
{Stamping up and down. '\ Bacon Barradell I Bacon 
Barradell ! The wife of Bacon Barradell ! 

Ottoline. 

{With a sad smile. '\ He has social aims ; a vulgar, 
pushing woman would be a serviceable partner for Sir 
Tim. 

Philip. 

Oh ! Oh ! {Dropping on to the settee on the left 

and burying his face in his hands.'] Ho, well, more power 
to him! He can sell his bacon; I — I can't sell my 
books ! 

{Again there is a silence, and then, putting on her 
left-hand glove, she goes to Philip and stands 
over him, compassionately, 

Ottoline. 

Mon pauvre Philippe, it's you, not I, who will take 
another view of things to-morrow. {He makes a gesture 
of dissent^ Ah, come, come, come ! You have never 
loved me as I have loved you. Unconsciously — with- 



212 THE BIG DRUM 

out perceiving it — one may be half a poseuse ; but at 
least I've been sincere in my love for you, and in hun- 
gering to be your wife. \Giving him her right hand.~\ 
You're the best I've ever known, dear; by far the best 
I've ever known. \^He presses her hand to his brow con- 
vulsively.'] But when we had our talk in South Audley 
Street, how did you serve me? You insisted on my 
waiting — waiting ; I who had cherished your image in 
my mind for years! You guessed I shouldn't have 
patience — you almost prophesied as much ; but still — I 
was to wait ! 

Philip. 
[^Inarticulately.'] Oh, Otto ! 

Ottoline. 

[^Withdrawing her hand.] What did that show, Phil? 
It showed — as your compromise with mother and Dad 
showed afterwards — that the success of the book you 
were engaged upon came first with you ; that marrying 
me was to be only an incident in your career ; that you 
didn't love me sufficiently to bend your pride or vary 
your programme a jot. [He gets to his feet, startled, 
dumbfoundered. He attempts to speak, but she checks 
him.] H'sh! H'sh! I'm scolding you; but, for your 
sake, I wouldn't have it otherwise. Now that I'm sane 
and cool, I wouldn't have it otherwise. 

Philip. 
[Struggling for words — thickly.] Ottoline — Ottoline — 
[his voice dying away] I ! 

Ottoline. 

[Taking his hands in hers.] Good-bye. Don't come 
down-stairs with me. Let me leave you sitting at your 
table, at work — at work on that incomplete chapter. We 
shall tumble up against one another, I dare say, at odd 
times, but this is the last we shall see of each other dans 



THE BIG DRUM 21:^ 

t intimite ; and I want to print on my memory the sight 
of you — \_ pointing to the writing-table] there — keeping 
your flag ilying. [^Putting her arms round him — in a 
whisper.'] Keep your flag flying, Philip! Don't — don't 
sulk with your art, and be false to yourself, because a 
trumpery woman has fretted and disturbed you. Keep 
your flag flying — \_kissing him] my — my dead hero ! 

\_She untwines her arms and steps back. Slowly, 
with his hands hanging loosely, and his chin 
upon his breast, VviWA.^ passes her and goes to the 
writing-table. There, dully and mechanically, 
he takes the unfinished page of manuscript from 
the portfolio, arranges it upon the blotting-pad 
and, seating himself at the table, picks up his 
pen. Very softly OXTOLINE opens the vestibule 
door, gives Philip a last look over her shoulder, 
and enters the vestibule, closing the door behind 
her. There is a pause, during which Philip 
sits staring at his inkstand, and then the outer 
door slams. With art exclamation, Philip 
drops his pen, leaps up, and rushes to the vesti- 
bule door. 

Philip. 

Otto! Otto! \_Loudly?^ OttoUne ! {With his 

hand on the door-handle, he wavers, his eyes shifting 
wildly to and from the writing-table. Then, with a mighty 
effort, he pulls himself together, strides to the stno king- 
table, and loads and lights his pipe. Puffing at his pipe 
fiercely, he reseats himself before his manuscript and, grab- 
bing his pen, forces himself to write. He has written a 
word or two when he falters — stops— and lays his head 
upon his arm on the table. His shoulders heaving.] Oh, 
Otto— Otto 1 



THE END 



WILLOWDALE 

A Play in Three Acts by Arthur Lewis Tubbs. Seven males, five fe- 
males. Scenery, two easy interiors ; costumes, modern. This is a play of 
exceptional interest and power. Admirably suited for amateur perform- 
ance, all the parts being good. Godfrey is an admirable heavy part, Joel, 
Lem and Simon capital character parts, Mis' Hazey a novel eccentric bit, 
and Oleander a part of screaming comedy. Plays two hours and a quarter. 

Price, 2^ cents 

THE VILLAGE SCHOOL MA'AM 

A Play in Three Acts by Arthur Lewis Tubbs. Six males, five females. 
Costumes, modern ; scenes, an interior and an exterior, or can be played in 
two interiors. Plays two hours or more. Combines a strong sympathetic 
interest with an abundance of comedy. The parts are unusually equal in 
opportunity, are vigorously drawn and easily actable. No dialect parts, 
but plenty of variety in the comedy roles and lots of amusing incident. 
Can be strongly recommended. Price, 2^ cents 

BAR HAVEN 

A Comedy in Three Acts by Gordan V. May. Six males, five females. 
Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors and an exterior, not difficult. 
Plays two hours. An excellent piece, mingling a strongly serious interest 
with abundant humor. Offers a great variety of good parts of nearly 
equal opportunity. Admirably suited for amateur performance, and 
strongly recommended. Price, 2^ cents 

DOWN IN MAINE 

A Drama in Four Acts by Charles Townsend. Eight male, four female 
characters. This play has no villains, no tangled plot nor sentimental 
love scenes; yet the climaxes are strong, the action brisk, and the humor 
genial, and the characters strongly drawn. Can be played in any hall ; 
scenery, of the easiest sort. Properties, few and simple ; costumes, 
modern. Plays a full evening. Strongly recommended. Price^ 2j cents 

HIGBEE OF HARVARD 

A Comedy Drama in Three Acts by Charles Townsend. Five males, 
four females. Modern costumes ; scenes, two interioi-s and an exterior — 
the latter may be played as well in an interior, if preferred. Plays a full 
evening. A clever, up-to-date piece, well suited for amateur performance. 
No small parts; all good. Good plot, full of incident, no love-making, 
interest strong and sustained. Price, ij cents 

HOW JIM MADE GOOD 

A Comedy Drama in Four Acts by Charles S. Bird. Seven males, 
three females ; two male parts can be doubled. Costumes, modern ; 
scenery, three interiors. Plays two hours. An unusually sympathetic 
play, well suited to amateurs. Clean and easy to get up. Recommended 
to high schools. All the parts are good. Price, 2^ cents 



TAKING THE CENSUS IN BINGVILLE 

An Entertainment in One Act by Jessie A. Kelley. Fourteen males, 
eight females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, unimportant. Plays an hour 
and a half. One of the always popular go-as-you-please entertainments; 
just a lot of laughs strung on a very slender wire of story. Full of eccen- 
tric character bits and chances for local hits. A sure success for the 
laughter-loving. Recommended for church societies or intimate com- 
munities. Price, 2^ cents 

MISS PRIM'S KINDERGARTEN 

An Entertainment in One Scene by Jessie A. Kelley. Ten males, 
eleven females. No scenery or curtain needed; costumes introduce 
grown people dressed as children. Plays an hour and a half. Full of 
laughs and a sure hit with the audience. All the parts very easy except 
the Teacher's, and as it is possible for her to use a book, the entertain- 
ment can be got up with exceptional ease and quickness. Can be recom- 
mended. Price, 2j cents 

THE PACKING OF THE HOME MIS- 
SIONARY BARREL 

An Entertainment in One Scene by Mrs. Henry A. Hallock. Ten fe- 
males. Costumes, modern ; scenery, unimportant. Plays thirty minutes. 
One of those little satires of feminine ways that are so popular even with 
the ladies; very shrewd and effective, but perfectly good-natured. An as- 
sured success and very easy to get up. Strongly recommended. 

Price, IS cents 

A MODERN SEWING SOCIETY 

An Entertainment in One Scene by O. W. Gleason. Fourteen females. 
Costumes, modern ; no scenery required. May be easily presented on a 
bare platform. Plays forty-five minutes. A humorous picture of this 
much-abused institution, briskly and vivaciously written and full of 
" points." Its characters offer a wide variety of opportunity for local hits, 
and satire of local characters and institutions. Price, ij cents 

HOW THE CLUB WAS FORMED 

An Entertainment in Three Scenes by Mrs. O. W. Gleason. Eighteen 
females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, unimportant. Plays one and a 
half hours. A humorous skit on the Woman's Club suited for perform- 
ance by either young or middle-aged women. Full of points and chances 
for local hits and thus a sure laugh-maker. Parts well distributed ; can 
be recommended. Price, 75 cents 

SCENES IN THE UNION DEPOT 

A Humorous Entertainment in One Scene by Laura M. Parsons. 
Twenty-four males, eighteen females and eight children, but can be played 
by less if desired. Scenery, unimportant ; costumes, modern. Full of 
humorous points and chances to introduce local hits. Plays from an hour 
up, according to specialties introduced. Price, 25 cents 



A REGIMENT OF TWO 

A Farcical Comedy in Three Acts by Anthony E. Wills. Six males, 
four females. Modern costumes. Scene, an interior, the same for all 
three acts. Plays a full evening. A lively, up-to-date farce, easy to pro- 
duce and full of laughs from beginning to end. All the parts good — no 
small ones. German comedy characters for both male and female, and 
" wild west " character part and English character comedy. Strongly 
recommended. Frice, 2^ cents 

MISS BUZBY'S BOARDERS 

A Comedy in Three Acts by Arthur Lewis Tubbs. Five male, six fe- 
male characters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two easy interiors. Plays 
two hours. In a lighter vein than this writer's other pieces, but just as 
strong, and offers plenty of comedy. All the parts good ; four call for 
strong acting. Several good character parts and effect! "e heavy character. 
Dialogue especially good. A sure hit. Pricey 2^ cents 

VALLEY FARM 

A Dram?, in Four Acts by Arthur Lewis Tubbs, Six males, six females. 
Scenery, two interiors and an exterior. Costumes, modern. An admirable 
play for amateurs, very sympathetic in theme, and with lots of good parts. 
Hetty is a strong lead, and Perry Deane and Silas great parts ; while 
Azariali, Lizy Ann Tucker and Verbena are full of fun. Plays a full 
evening. Frice, 45 cents 

THE MISSING MISS MILLER 

A Comedy in Three Acts by Harold A, Clarke. Six males, five fe- 
males. Scenery, two interiors ; costumes, modern. Plays a full etfijing. 
A bright and up-to-date farce comedy of the liveliest type. All the parts 
good ; full of opportunity for all hands. Easy to produce and strongly 
recommended. Good lone ; might answer for schools, but is a sure hit for 
amateur theatricals. Professional stage rights reserved. Frice^ 2^ cents 

OUT OF TOWN 

A Comedy in Three Acts by Bell Elliot Palmer. Three males, five fe- 
males. Scene, an interior, the same for all three acts; costumes, modern. 
Plays an hour and a half, A clever and interesting comedy, very easy to 
produce and recommended for amateur performance. All the parts good. 
A safe piece for a fastidious audience, as its theme and treatment are alike 
beyond reproach. Price, 2^ cents 

GADSBY'S GIRLS 

A Farce in Three Acts by Bertha Currier Porter. Five males, fdtir fe- 
males. Costumes, modern ; scenery, an exterior and an interior. Plays an 
hour and a half. An exceptionally bright and vivacious little piece, full 
of action. Gadsby's adventures with the fiancees of three of his friends 
are full of interest and fun. All the parts good. Well suited for high 
school performance. Price, 2^ cents 






THF MAfilSTRATF ^^^'^^ ^° Three Acts. Twelve males, four 
UAlllym !♦ females. Costumes, modem; scene^T, all 
interior. Plays two lioiirs and a half . ^ 

THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMriB ?'r" J" f°7 ^f 

EigLt males, five females. 
Costumes, modem ; scenery, all interiors. Plays a full evening. 

TffE FR0FLI6ATE ^^y^^ourActs. seven males, Ave females. 
Scenery, three interiors, rather elaborate ; 
costumes, modem. Plays a fiQl evening. 

THE SCPOOLMiSTRESS ^^.rcetn Three Acts. Nine males, seven 

females. Costtmaes, modem; scenery, 
three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

TBE SECOND MRS. TANQDERAY «7toF„„rActs. Eight 

^ males, five females. Cos- 

tumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

SWEET LAVENDER ^^^^^y ^ Three Acts. Seven males, four 
females. Scene, a single interior; costumes, 
mo iu Plays a full evening. 

THE TIMES ^°^®<^y ^^ Four Acts. Six males, seven females. 
Scene, a single interior ; costume?, modern. Plays a 
full evening. 

THE WEAKER SEX ^°°^®*^y ^^ Three Acts, Eight males, eight 
females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two 
Interiors. Playp a full evening. 

A WIFE WITHOUT A SMILE ""T^l *%^T ^r% ^"" 

^ males, four females. Costumes, 
modem ; scene, a single interior. Plays a full evening. 



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No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 



%yt Willmm Waxxtn etittton 
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AS YOII I I¥F IT Comedy in Five Acts. Thirteen males, four 
Aij iww JUiuiw It females. Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, va- 
ried. Plays a full evening. 

CAMII I F ^"^a^a in Five Acts. Nine males, five females. Cos- 
VAiTiU4i4L< tumes, modern ; scenery, varied. Plays a full evening. 

INdOMAff -^^y ^^ ^^^® ^^^^- Thirteen males, three females. 
inuviu/ux Scenery varied; costumes. Greek. Plays a full evening. 

MARY STUART Tragedy in Five Acts. Thirteen males, four fe- 
iiK/ii.\t uM.\)t\M\>. males, and supernumeraries. Costumes, of the 
period ; scenery, varied and elaborate. Plays a full evening. 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE iT^li^^ffJSll: SSf^S; 

picturesque ; scenery varied. Plays a full evening. 

RFCHFIIFII I'lay in Five Acts. Fifteen males, two females. Scen- 
iMvui^xyxi^v ery elaborate ; costumes of the period. Plays a full 
evening. 

THE RIVAT S Comedy in Five Acts. Nine males, five females. 
A 1114 niTAi^iJ Scenery varied; costumes of the period. Plgys a 
« full evening. 

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER SSfe^L ■? S,er&en'er,'£ 

ried ; costumes of the period. Plays a full evening. 

TWELFTH NlfiHT; OR, WHAT YOII WILL iX^A^'mfiJe': 

three females. Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, varied. Plays a 
full evening. 



Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Salter 1^. TBaSer & Company 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 



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